Marston looked very thoughtful. "You never told me of this," he said; "and she has—she has refused you, I suppose?"
"Ay! how did you guess that?"
"By my mother wit. I didn't suppose that Charles Ravenshoe would have gone on as he has under other circumstances."
"I fell in love with her," said Charley, rocking himself to and fro, "when she was a child. I have never had another love but her; and the last time I left Ranford I asked her—you know—and she laughed in my face, and said we were getting too old for that sort of nonsense. And when I swore I was in earnest, she only laughed the more. And I'm a desperate beggar, by Jove, and I'll go and enlist, by Jove."
"What a brilliant idea!" said Marston. "Don't be a fool, Charley. Is this girl a great lady?"
"Great lady! Lord bless you, no; she's a dependant without a sixpence."
"Begin all over again with her. Let her alone a little. Perhaps you took too much for granted, and offended her. Very likely she has got tired of you. By your own confession, you have been making love to her for ten years; that must be a great bore for a girl, you know. I suppose you are thinking of going to Ranford now?"
"Yes, I am going for a time."
"The worst place you could go to; much better go home to your father. Yours is a quiet, staid, wholesome house; not such a bear-garden as the other place—but let us change the subject. I am sent after you."
"By whom?"