“When gentlemen declare that they ‘insist,’ I take it they mean to have their way,” said she, with a careless toss of her head. “Good Heavens!” cried he in a passion, “have you never cared for me at all? or is your love so little rooted that you can tear it from your heart without a pang?” “All this going back on the past is very unprofitable,” said she coldly. He was stung by the contemptuous tone even more than by the words she used. It seemed as though she held his love so lightly she would not condescend to the slightest trouble to retain it, and this too at a moment of parting. “Florence!” said he, in a tone of deep melancholy, “if I am to call you by that name for the last time--tell me, frankly, is this a sudden caprice of yours, or has it lain rankling in your mind, as a thing you would conquer if you could, or submit to, if you must?” “I suspect it is neither one nor the other,” said she with a levity that almost seemed gaiety. “I don’t think I am capricious, and I know I never harbour a longstanding grievance. I really believe that it is to your own heart you must look for the reasons of what has occurred between us. I have often heard that men are so ashamed of being jealous, that they’ll never forgive anyone who sees them in the fit.” “Enough, more than enough,” said he, trembling from head to foot. “Let us part.” “Remember, the proposal comes from you.” “Yes, yes, it comes from me. It matters little whence it comes.” “Oh, I beg your pardon, it matters a great deal, at least to me. I am not to bear the reproaches of my aunt and my sister for a supposed cruelty towards a man who has himself repudiated our engagement. It would be rather hard that I was to be deserted and condemned too.” “Deserted, Florry!” cried he, as the tears stood in his eyes. “Well, I don’t mean deserted. There is no desertion on either side. It is a perfectly amicable arrangement of two people who are not disposed to travel the same road. I don’t want to imply that any more blame attaches to _you_ than to _me_.” “How can any attach to me at all?” cried he. “Oh, then, if you wish it, I take the whole of it.” “Shall I speak to your aunt, Miss Walter, or will you?” “It does not signify much which of us is the first to acquaint her. Perhaps, however, it would come with more propriety from you. I think I see her yonder near the cypress-trees, and I’m sure you’ll be glad to have it over. Wait one moment, this ring--” as she endeavoured to draw a small ruby ring from her finger, Loyd saw the turquoise which she wore on the other hand--“this ring,” said she, in some confusion, “is yours.” “Not this one,” said he, sternly, as he pointed to the other. “No, the ruby,” said she, with an easy smile. “It was getting to hurt my finger.” “I hope you may wear the other more easily,” said he with a bitter laugh. “Thank you,” said she, with a curtesy, and then turned away, and walked towards the house.