things than either might at all intelligibly or happily have named. "Do you ask it of me?"
"I ask it of you," said Mrs Puddick, after a wait that affected him as giving his contribution to her enjoyment of that title as part of her reason.
He held out, however—contribution or no contribution—another moment. "Do you beg me very hard?"
Once more she hung fire—but she let him have it. "I beg you very hard."
It made him turn pale. "Thank you," he said; and it was as if now he didn't care what monstrous bargain he passed with her—which was fortunate, for that matter, since, when she next spoke, the quantity struck him as looming large.
"I want to be free."
"How can you not?" said Sidney Traffle, feeling, to the most extraordinary tune, at one and the same time both sublime and base; and quite vague, as well as indifferent, as to which character prevailed.
"But I don't want him, you see, to suffer."
Besides the opportunity that this spread before him, he could have blessed her, could have embraced her, for "you see." "Well, I promise you he shan't suffer if I can help it."
"Thank you," she said in a manner that gave him, if possible, even greater pleasure yet, showing him as it did, after all, what an honest man she thought him. He even at that point had his apprehension of the queerness of the engagement that,
