"A moment yet. In case the danger is not past, you must remain here a little longer. There is no help for it. I will promise not to speak another unwelcome word to you, and to give you as little of my company as possible. We will both ignore the past as a pleasant dream, just as though it had not existed. Will this content you?" "Yes, sir." "Then I give you my honour that after this evening it shall be so. But we must have a few words together first. I have already intimated that I should not have spoken so soon but for perceiving that love had arisen on your side as well as mine. Now don't fly off at a tangent: I intend to have an explanation from you this night: an explanation that shall set things straight between us, or sever us for ever. We are not boy and girl that we should shrink from it. At least, if you are but a girl in years, you have sense and prudence and right feeling that belong rather to double your age." Standing there before me, calm and resolute, I knew there could be no avoidance of the explanation he sought. His was the master-spirit. But it was cruel to wish me to put it into words. And so entirely needless! "If I allude to your love for me, it is not needlessly to pain, or, as you may think, insult you: believe me, when I say it; but only to call to your notice the inconsistency of your conduct. It is _this_ that I require an explanation of. Child, you _know_ you loved me,"——and his hand slightly trembled as he laid it on my shoulder. "Whence, then, the sudden change?" "I did not know your position then," I answered, meeting the words as I supposed he wished to force me to meet them, and taking a step backwards on the hearth-rug. "I cannot but think you must in some way be mistaking my position. Circumstances, very sad and grievous circumstances, are rendering it of brighter prospect. I am aware of the misfortune that attaches to my family, the disgrace that is reflected upon me: but you should not treat me as though the disgrace or the fault were mine. Surely there is no justice in resenting it on me! You might have rejected me with civility." "I do not know what you are saying," I interrupted, passionately angry. "What is it to me, the disgrace attaching to your family? That could not sway _me_. It is unknown to me." "Unknown to you?" he repeated in accents of surprise. "Entirely unknown, save for vague rumours that I have not wished to attend to. The disgrace lies with you, sir, not with your family." "With me? What have I done? Do you mean in having spoken to you of love?" he added, finding I did not answer. "At least, I do not see that _disgrace_ could be charged on me for that. I intended to lay the case openly before you, and it would have been at your option to accept or reject me." "Do you call deceit and dishonour no disgrace, Mr. Chandos?" "Great disgrace. But I have not been guilty of either." "You have been guilty of both." "When? and how?"