"That I love you, darling--that I have loved you from the first moment I saw your face--that I love your courage, and your dear, dear self? I am a wealthy man now, Westenra. Money has come to me while I have been away, and I am a wealthy man and in your set, and--and will you come to me, darling? Will you make me happy--will you? Oh! I know you love me--I feel you do. You will come to me?" But I started up. "I cannot," I said. "You cannot! Then you do not love me?" I made a great struggle. Never in the whole course of my life did I make a struggle like that. My struggle was to keep my lips closed; but I looked wildly up at Jim, and Jim looked at me, and the next moment, against my will, perhaps against his will, I was in his arms, and my head was on his breast. "You love me; there is your answer," he said. "You need not say any more. You have gone through much. Oh! I am happy, and I will take such care of you, little West. I have loved you for so long, and so deeply." But I managed to wrest myself away. "I cannot go to you," I said, "and I have never said----" "You must say it now," he answered. "You do love me?" "Yes, but I cannot marry you; it is too late. Oh! you have been good, but there is nothing to be said; it is too late. It is as much too late as if I were dead--dead, as mother is dead. Oh! I can say no more." CHAPTER XXVIII THIS DEAR GIRL BELONGS TO US I forget all about the night that followed. I also forget the next day. I think I stayed in my room most of the time, but the day following I went down to the drawing-room. London was already emptying fast. Jim had not come back. I sat in the drawing-room wondering what was going to happen, feeling that something must happen soon--a great catastrophe--a great shattering of that castle in the air which I had built so proudly a few months ago. While I was sitting there Jasmine bustled in. "Now that is good, West," she said. "You are better. I want to have a little chat with you." I raised my eyes. I knew very well what she was going to talk about, but I was not prepared to tell the whole truth yet. There was one matter I kept in reserve--my engagement to Albert Fanning. Whether I did right or wrong, the announcement of that extreme news could not pass my lips. I often struggled to tell it, but never yet had I been able. I knew, of course, that if Jim came to see me again I must tell him everything, but I hoped in my mad misery that he would not come again. Then the next hour I hoped the other way. I longed most passionately to see him, and so I was torn from hour to hour and from minute to minute with longings and doubts and despairs; but all through everything, I kept my secret untold within my breast.