satisfied with this—that my love for her has grown upon me, day by day, till it is part of my being. I cannot ask her to marry me now; I have told you why. But if you are right in believing that she really cares for me, she will not quickly turn to another, though I remain silent, and she is free as air."
"I see it is useless arguing with you," murmured Hatty, faintly.
He poured out some medicine from the bottle on the table beside her. Then, to prevent her talking more, he drew the Journal des Beaux Arts from his pocket, and began reading aloud.
On Mr. Twisden's return from Farley, George Daintree had asked his uncle boldly for the fortnight of his holiday which he had lost by being recalled at the end of October. The old man felt he could not reasonably refuse. George had been working hard during the intervening months, and devoting himself to his uncle with praiseworthy patience. Though always cheerful and energetic, he had been beginning to lose something of his fresh colour of late. He must certainly be allowed a holiday. And his uncle, who thought the matter well out, decided that he had neither the right, nor the power, to stop his nephew's following Elizabeth, as Mr. Twisden felt sure he would, knowing George's tenacity of purpose. Under these circumstances, there was but one thing to be done. He wrote to Elizabeth, in these terms—
"My nephew, George Daintree, told me some time ago a thing which has troubled me a good deal—namely, that being led accidentally to the pension where you
