"But," said Dick, still more earnestly, "there are two questions I do think I may ask, though whether you will answer them—"
"I will," the girl exclaimed rashly.
"Well, then, the first is, have you taken a dislike to me—a new one? Don't laugh," he said, colouring; "I mean it. It is so possible, you know. I have led a rough life; you might easily be ashamed of the things I had to do, to make my way at first; you might easily think me less polished, less gentlemanly: if it is that, I implore you to say so."
She could scarcely keep grave; even he might have smiled, but for the question he had still to ask.
"No, it is not that; to my mind you are just the same."
Dick drew a deep breath of relief.
"The second question may offend you; if it does—well, it can't be helped. I think my old footing—even though you were a child then—is sufficient excuse for it. It is, then—and, indeed, you must grant me an honest answer—do you love another man?"
"And it is not that," said Alice shortly, nevertheless looking him full in the face.
A great load was removed from his heart.
"Then it is only," he said eagerly—"only that you wish to cancel the past? really only that?"