“Don’t you think the tone of our present discussion is the best possible reason for not prolonging it?” “No! If we have each of us; lost temper, I think the wisest course would be to recover ourselves, and see if we cannot talk the matter over in a better spirit.” “Begin then by unsaying that odious word.” “What is the word?” “Insist! You must not insist upon anything.” “I’ll take back the word if you so earnestly desire it, Florence,” said he gravely; “but I hope request will be read in its place.” “Now, then, what is it you request? for I frankly declare that all this time I don’t rightly understand what you ask of me.” “This is worse than I suspected,” said he angrily, “for now I see that it is in the mere spirit of defiance that you rejected my demand.” “Upon my word, Sir, I believe it will turn out that neither of us knew very much of the other.” “You think so?” “Yes; don’t you?” He grew very pale, and made no answer, though he twice seemed as if about to speak. “I declare,” cried she, and her heightened colour and flashing eye showed the temper that stirred her--“I declare I think we shall have employed all our lately displayed candour to very little advantage if it does not carry us a little further.” “I scarcely catch your meaning,” said he, in a low voice. “What I meant was, that by a little further effort of our frankness we might come to convey to each other that scenes like these are not pleasant, nor need they ever occur again.” “I believe at last I apprehend you,” said he, in a broken accent. “You desire that our engagement should be broken off.” She made no answer, but averted her head. “I will do my best to be calm, Florence,” continued he, “and I will ask as much of you. Let neither of us sacrifice the prospect of a whole life’s happiness for the sake of a petty victory in a very petty dispute. If, however, you are of opinion--” he stopped, he was about to say more than he had intended, more than he knew how to say, and he stopped, confused and embarrassed. “Why don’t you continue?” said she, with a cold smile. “Because I don’t know what I was about to say.” “Then shall I say it for you?” “Yes, do so.” “It was this, then, or at least to this purport: If you, Miss Florence Walter, are of opinion that two people who have not succeeded in inspiring each other with that degree of confidence that rejects all distrust, are scarcely wise in entering into a contract of which truthfulness is the very soul and essence, and that, though not very gallant on _my_ part, as the man to suggest it, yet in all candour, which here must take the place of courtesy, the sooner the persons so placed escape from such a false position the better.” “And part?” said he, in a hollow feeble voice. She shrugged her shoulders slightly, as though to say that, or any similar word, will convey my meaning. “Oh, Florence, is it come to this? Is this to be a last evening in its saddest, bitterest sense?”