The young lady turned as if to leave the room. He caught her by the arm. "Stella, is it possible, is it conceivable, that you can imagine that what has happened is in the least degree, in any sense my fault? Can you suppose that I would not ten thousand times rather spend every hour of every day with you than do what I have done, what I may still have to do?--that my heart, my thoughts, are not with you every instant I have to spend in that confounded City?" "Rodney, I am very anxious to believe that there are sufficient reasons which compel you to spend all the time you seem to spend in the City; but you don't manage to make it very clear what they are." "Stella! Stella! How can you talk like that? What shall I say? What can I do?" "You can promise to dine with us to-morrow night." "I gladly promise it--gladly." "There's no 'if' about the promise?" "No 'if'! If you only knew how I shall look forward to coming, what pleasure I shall give myself in coming! My dear, if you only knew how I am looking forward to dining with you all the days of all the year!" "And, Rodney, papa understand that you are coming into his business; is that what you understand?" "Rather! You bet it is, if he'll have me. Do you think I'd throw away a chance like that?" "Nothing that may be in your uncle's will will make any difference?" "You goose! What do you suppose will be there? The probability is that there will be nothing of the slightest interest to me--at the most some trivial legacy--a hundred, fifty, five-and-twenty pounds! But let me tell you this, that in the present state of my exchequer even the latter sum will be a godsend. You don't know what it is to be in a chronic state of impecuniosity--a little millionaire like you!" "I, a millionaire!" "You don't appreciate the situation; you really don't. Entirely between us, I wonder that I ever had the courage--the cheek!--to tell you how much I love you; how dear to me is the ground under your small feet; how I long to have you in my arms--you, with the Bank of England at your back; and I! But--Cæsar's ghost!--what am I dreaming about? The sight of you, the touch of you, the sound of you, has so--so got into the very bones of me that I'd clean forgotten. Why--Stella!--what's this?" He took a small, round, leather-covered box out of his waistcoat pocket. "My dear Rodney--how should I know what it is?" As she looked at the outside of the box her eyes began to sparkle--as if she did not know! "There! Why, it's a ring!" "What a pet." "Give me your hand!" "That's not the proper hand." "Isn't it? Which is the proper hand?" "Rodney! How ignorant you are!" "My dear, have I had your experience?" "My experience!--silly! I thought everybody knew on which hand the engagement finger was--there!--that is the finger!" She held out to him a finger which, if it was small, was slim and daintily fashioned. He bent and kissed it.