"It's true, at all events. I didn't love Mrs. Crosby, and I told her so. You may think me a brute if you like, but you heard me say it, if you heard anything, so I suppose I may quote myself. I do love you, and I have told you so--the fact that I can't say it in choice language doesn't make it a lie. I'm not a man in a book, and I'm in earnest." "Please stop," said Clare, as she heard the hoarse strength coming back in his voice. "Yes--I know. I've said it before, and you don't care to hear it again. You can't kill it by making me hold my tongue, you know. It only makes it worse. You'll see that I'm in earnest in time--then you'll change your mind. But I can't change mine. I can't live without you, whatever you may think of me now." It was a strange wooing, very unlike anything she had ever dreamt of, if she had allowed herself to dream of such things. She asked herself whether this could be the same man who had calmly and cynically told Lady Fan that he did not love her and could not think of marrying her. He had been cool and quiet enough then. That gave strength to the argument he used now. She had seen him with another woman, and now she saw him with herself and heard him. She was surprised and almost taken from her feet by his rough vehemence. He surely did not speak as a man choosing his words, certainly not as one trying to produce an effect. But then, on that evening at the Acropolis--the thought of that scene pursued her--he had doubtless spoken just as roughly and vehemently to Lady Fan, and had seemed just as much in earnest. And suddenly Lady Fan was hateful to her, and she almost ceased to pity her at all. But for Lady Fan--well, it might have been different. She should not have blamed herself for liking him, for loving him perhaps, and his words would have had another ring. He still stood beside her, watching her, and she was afraid to turn to him lest he should see something in her face which she meant to hide. But she could speak quietly enough, resting her hands on the wall and looking out to sea. It would be best to be a little formal, she thought. The sound of his own name spoken distinctly and coldly would perhaps warn him not to go too far. "Mr. Johnstone," she said, steadying her voice, "this can't go on. I never meant to tell you what I knew, but you have forced me to it. I don't love you--I don't like a man who can do such things, and I never could. And I can't let you talk to me in this way any more. If we must meet, you must behave just as usual. If you can't, I shall persuade my mother to go away at once." "I shall follow you," said Brook. "I told you so the other day. You can't possibly go to any place where I can't go too." "Do you mean to persecute me, Mr. Johnstone?" she asked. "I love you." "I hate you!" "Yes, but you won't always. Even if you do, I shall always love you just as much." Her eyes fell before his.