"I am sure it was so, my lord—my only motive for declining your assistance, is the fear of giving a hope, where none is intended."
His lordship appeared startled and annoyed.
"When I have explained my wishes, Miss Wetheral, to you, and when I state my hope that you will allow me to visit you at present, simply as a friend, till you can give me a dearer title, I trust you will listen calmly to what I am further anxious to say."
"Lord Farnborough," replied Christobelle, with trepidation of voice and manner, "I will not deceive you for one moment. Pray do not think of me, for it is useless. I—I—cannot love you, or even give you hope that I ever shall love you. Pray do not think of me."
Lord Farnborough bowed with great stiffness. "I beg your pardon, Miss Wetheral, for this annoyance, but, allow me to say, I was assured you were disengaged."
"My lord, I was——, I am——." The words died upon Christobelle's tongue; she could not utter them.
"Ponsonby has made an impression upon your heart, Miss Wetheral! I thought—I was sure of it yesterday! That fellow is born to be my misery."
Christobelle laid her hand upon his lordship's arm, and endeavoured to speak distinctly, but she could only articulate, "No, no, no!"
"Do not fear me, Miss Wetheral," replied his lordship, with offensive hauteur, "I am not intending to wreak vengeance upon a man you approve, but this is the second time he has traversed me!"
"Captain Ponsonby is nothing to me, my lord; Captain Ponsonby can never be any thing to me!" Christobelle exclaimed, "but pray excuse me if I drop the subject for ever. I am honoured—I am flattered—but it never can be, Lord Farnborough."