“Why talk about it, Alan? I like you very well. I suppose you’re as much to be believed in as other men. The mistake I made was in supposing you to be superior to them. You would not like the idea of being on a pedestal, I know; so be content, and let us say no more about the matter.” “Excuse me, if I cannot consent,” he answered, gravely. “It is no light matter to me to lose your regard; and when you remember that I have long hoped to make you my wife, some day, I think you will feel that that fact creates an indebtedness on your part to me, and gives me the right to demand an explanation from you.” His tone of conscious rectitude and the reproachful sadness of the eyes he turned upon her, made Margaret so indignant and angry that she said, with some heat: “We are playing a farce, Alan, and it had better come to an end. I am perfectly willing to accord you all the credit you deserve. You are a charming man of the world,” she added, falling into a lighter tone, “and I admire your manners immensely. I am perfectly willing to continue to be on good terms with you, but there must be certain limitations to our friendship. I could not consent to a return to the old intimacy, and you must not expect it.” “But why?” he said, urgently. “I insist that you tell me. Margaret, remember how important this is to me; remember how I love you!” And in a certain way his words were true. He felt himself, at this moment, really in love. Now that he found himself likely to lose her, this handsome, spirited, honest-hearted girl, grew inestimably more dear to him. He longed to be able to control her--to settle it, then and there, that she was to be his own. So it was with the fire of real feeling in his eyes that he drew nearer and eagerly sought her averted gaze, and even ventured to take her hand. But the moment she met that look, and felt that touch, Margaret sprang to her feet and half involuntarily took her position behind a large chair, where she stood, resting upon its high back and looking at him with an expression of defiant scorn. “Margaret,” he said, rising too, and bending upon her again that eager look that galled her so, “do you shrink from my mere look and touch? There must be a reason for your manner, and that reason I must and will know.”