was projected in imagination and nothing realized in achievement, startled Ethel sharply. In a panic she tried to run away. It was Basil Thorpe, who had come to see her. Twice he had come before and twice she had denied him access. But Basil Thorpe had his own share of determination. He recognized the fact that what he loved in Ethel comprehended this capacity for self-assertion, that it had, indeed, helped to establish her power over him. But now as he walked into the room he was not only himself capable of self-assertion, but possessed of a man's physical strength to enforce it, and he defeated her wish to escape by catching both of her hands in his. Thus holding her a prisoner he looked down into her face.
Ethel, feeling that his whole face asked a question, opened her lips to speak, but no sound came, and, finding her in this voiceless mood, Basil kissed her.
"No, no, no," she cried. She unlocked her hands and retreated. He followed her. Fanny Bruce had stolen away, and they were alone.
"I have thought it all out. I have decided for the best—indeed, for the only way," said Ethel in a supplicating voice. "Please accept my decision."
"Do you mean that our love is to come to nothing?"
They looked at each other for a moment in silence, then he went on. "Perhaps you remember that day by the seashore when I said to you: 'I love you. I shall never love any other woman, but you have a right to the widest choice. Here I am at your feet if you will deign to take me, but if you can love anybody better' That was when I believed that you were to inherit your aunt's money, when I stood a little in awe of you as an heiress. Now you are mine irrevocably, Ethel. I want you to say, 'Basil, I will be your wife whenever you will take me.'"
"I shall not say it," replied Ethel with no little spirit. "As long as I believed myself to be rich I was quite willing to say it. As a poor girl, I cannot, I will not be your wife."
As their eyes met it was clear that there was behind each glance a strong will. He went on as if she had not spoken. "What I have come for to-day is to say, 'Marry me next week.' I am not rich and possibly I may never be rich. I have responsibilities, but responsibilities nerve the spirit of a man. I accept and will discharge my responsibilities."
Ethel drew back proudly.
"I see," she exclaimed, "my letter seemed to you a challenge to your generosity. I remember, if you do not, how you said"
"I remember a thousand foolish things I uttered when things were in doubt between us. Now just one thing is absolute fact and absolute truth,—I want you for my wife. If we are poor, our very poverty will make the joy of existence keener, our love a more exquisite joy. Tell me it shall be so, Ethel."
