"Of what were you talking with your heads so close together this morning?" asked Hannah abruptly.
"How do I know? Of birds, of flowers, moonshine, or some such rubbish. I was not heeding my words."
"No, your eyes were too busy! And now, Mr. Brudenell, I repeat my question: Was yours a manly part—discoursing all this love to Nora, and having no ultimate intentions?"
"Hannah, I never questioned my conscience upon that point; I was too happy for such cross-examination."
"But now the question is forced upon you, Mr. Brudenell, and we must have an answer now and here."
"Then, Hannah, I will answer truly! I love Nora; and if I were free to marry, I would make her my wife to-morrow; but I am not; therefore I have been wrong, and very wrong, to seek her society. I acted, however, from want of thought, not from want of principle; I hope you will believe that, Hannah."
"I do believe it, Mr. Brudenell."
"And now I put myself in your hands, Hannah! Direct me as you think best; I will obey you. What shall I do?"
"See Nora no more; from this day absent yourself from our house."
He turned pale as death, reeled, and supported himself against the trunk of a friendly tree.