"Oh, no, Beatrice, I cannot go, I know. Indeed, I would rather not. I would rather stay with Aunt Elizabeth, and go on with my lessons." Mrs. Reade was considerably astonished and disconcerted by this evidently genuine sentiment. There was _something_ in so ready a relinquishment of the pleasures of Adelonga, which had always been so great, and also in the tremulous eagerness with which the girl put the proposal from her--a proposal which Mrs. Reade had feared would be cruelly tantalising at this time; but it was not immediately apparent. Rachel could not stand the silent scrutiny of her cousin's brilliant eyes. Blushing violently, she rose from the couch on which she had been sitting, and rested her arms on the window-sill, and looked out upon the sombre pine trees that stood perfectly motionless in the golden summer air. "Do you see how that house is getting on?" she said, breaking an awkward pause. "The walls are simply _rushing_ up. They will be ready for the roof directly." Mrs. Reade stood on tiptoe and peeped over her shoulder. "I wonder you have the heart to look at it," she replied. "Oh, Beatrice!" "I do, when you think what a wreck you have made of all the hopes and plans that that poor dear man has been building with it." "He will build some more, and better ones, by and bye, I hope." "Not he. Men don't do that so easily at his age." "Oh, yes," she persisted, imploringly, "I think he will, indeed. He did it very easily with me." "For an exceedingly good reason--because he loved you from the first. Oh, you ungrateful little monkey, it's to be hoped you'll die an ugly old maid!" "That would be better than being the wife for years and years of a man I did not love." "Rubbish. As if one could have everything all at once in this world. You girls think of nothing but yourselves. You don't take into account that it might be worth while to make somebody else happy." "How could I make him happy unless I loved him, Beatrice?" "Oh, don't talk about it. You have pleased yourself, I suppose, and he must do the best he can. He is terribly miserable as he is, poor fellow; but I daresay he'll get over it." "Is he miserable _now_?" inquired Rachel anxiously. "Have you seen him lately?" "I saw him yesterday, and he told me that his life had no value for him now that he had lost you, and that he should never live in his house unless you were the mistress of it. I shouldn't imagine he felt particularly jolly under those circumstances. However, it is no use worrying ourselves on his account," the little woman added cheerfully, seeing tears in her cousin's gentle eyes. "But I am so sorry for him!" "That won't help him much, my dear. And if _you_ are happy, I suppose that is all we need care about." "Oh, no, Beatrice!" "We haven't time to fret over other people's troubles," Mrs. Reade proceeded, in what Rachel thought an exceedingly heartless manner; "life is too short." "But, Beatrice----"