‘I never cared for Norwood itself, you know, Charlie, and you would scarcely expect me to get up an enthusiastic admiration for a suburb of London, composed of bricks and mortar and stunted trees. Its recollections are sacred to me, because my dear mother lies there, but that is all.’ ‘I was sure that coming abroad would give you a distaste for all the old things,’ he said, in a desponding manner. ‘Don’t talk rubbish, Charlie! You were sure of no such thing! If you ask me if I was happy at Norwood, I answer “_yes_” most fervently. If you ask me if I liked the place as a residence, I answer, as fervently, “_no_.” I should have been happy with my mother in St. Giles’s; but I should not have admired the locality.’ ‘Ah well! Let us return to St. Pucelle,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘No! I refuse to return to St. Pucelle until I have spoken a few words to you. Do you mean to enjoy your holiday here, Charlie, and to let me enjoy it, or not?’ ‘I don’t understand what you’re driving at.’ ‘I’m driving at you, or rather at that receptacle for nonsense you call your brain. Now you know I am very fond of you, Charlie, and have been for years. You are so associated with my darling mother, that you seem like a link with the past to me; and I should like to treat you like a younger brother, and to feel that you looked upon me as a sister. But that can never be whilst you attempt to stuff any of your sentiment down my throat.’ ‘Really, Hilda——’ ‘Really, Charlie, please to hear me out first, and have your say afterwards. If I thought that what you told me at Norwood proceeded from a feeling such as men conceive in their maturity, and preserve for their whole lives, I should not dare broach the subject to you again. But I am sure it did not.’ ‘You imagine, in fact, that I am such a _boy_,’ with a withering accent on the word, ‘that I am incapable of a lasting passion.’ ‘Just so! That is just what I do think; at least, I am sure the fancy you took for me was born entirely of association and compassion.’ ‘I confess I do not follow you.’ ‘Oh yes, you do! There are several kinds of love, Charlie, but only one is the right one with which to enter upon a partnership for life. You had known me for so long: you had become so _used_ to me, in fact, that when you thought of our separation, and under such melancholy circumstances, the pain seemed too hard to bear, and your mind flew to the only means by which you could have kept me with you. I have often and often thought of it since, and I am sure I am right. It was very good and sweet and true of you, Charlie, and I love you the better for it, but you should thank God I was more clear-sighted than yourself, for we should have been a very miserable couple.’ ‘Do you think so, Hilda?’