"But I can see no reason why you should retain it."
"Perhaps there is none--and yet, there is. It is the face of one I shall never, never forget; and it is a memento of happy days spent with you--a memento that other eyes than mine shall never look upon."
"Do not speak thus, Mr. Caradoc, I implore you!" said Winifred, looking down on her horse's mane.
"You will permit me to keep it?"
"For a time," said she, trying to smile, but her lips quivered, "Thank you, dear Winifred."
"If shown to none."
"'While I live none shall see; and if I die in action--as many shall surely do, and why not I as well as happier fellows?--it will be heard of no more?"
Caradoc's voice became quite tremulous, either because of Miss Lloyd's obduracy, or that he felt, as many people do, rather pathetic at the thought of his own demise. He had already possessed himself of her whip-hand, when her horse began to rear, and in a minute more they were in the lime avenue; and this proved the last opportunity he had of reasoning with her on the subject that was nearest his heart. He now wished that he had never met Winifred Lloyd, or that, having met, and learned to love her--oddly enough, when his passion was not returned--he could be what her ideal was. "In what," thought he, "am I wanting? Am I too rough, too soldierly, too blunt, unwinning, or what?" It was none of these; for Caradoc was a well-mannered, courteous, gentle, and pleasing young fellow, and by women unanimously deemed handsome and distingué. All that day he was unusually cast down and taciturn, though he strove to take an interest in the conversation around him.
"By Jove, Hardinge," said he, "I wish you had never brought me here, to renew the hopes I had begun to entertain in London."
"Don't lose heart yet, Phil," said I.