"You know I will scream?"
"No; you will hear me. I know they would not be slow to tender help to you, but you will not call for it; I will present to you no necessity."
"Say on—say on."
"You perceive I do not attempt to approach you; my errand is one of peace."
"Peace from you! Horrible being, if you be really what even now my appalled imagination shrinks from naming you, would not even to you absolute annihilation be a blessing?"
"Peace, peace. I came not here to talk on such a subject. I must be brief, Flora Bannerworth, for time presses. I do not hate you. Wherefore should I? You are young, and you are beautiful, and you bear a name which should command, and does command, some portion of my best regard."
"There is a portrait," said Flora, "in this house."
"No more—no more. I know what you would say."
"It is yours."
"The house, and all within, I covet," he said, uneasily. "Let that suffice. I have quarrelled with your brother—I have quarrelled with one who just now fancies he loves you."