"Oh, then it was this morning! May I congratulate you, or not?" Ellen Adair turned to her book in deep vexation. She had been caught, as it were, into making the tacit admission that Mr. Seeley had made her an offer. And she was hurt at Arthur Bohun's words and tone. Had he no more trust in her than _this?_ As she turned the leaves of the book in her agitation, the plain gold ring on her finger attracted his sight. He was chafing inwardly, but he strove to appear at careless ease, and sat down as far from her as the bench allowed. "I would be honourable if I died for it," he remarked with indifference, looking at the rose. "Is it quite the thing for you to listen to another man whilst you wear that ring upon your finger?" Ellen took it off and pushed it towards him along the table. This frightened him. He turned as white as ashes. Until now, he had only been speaking in jealousy, not in belief. Her own face was becoming white, her lips were compressed to hide their trembling. And thus they sat for a minute or two. He looked at the ring, then looked at her. "Do you mean it, Ellen?" he asked, in a voice that struggled with agitation, proving how very earnest he deemed the thing was becoming--whatever it might have begun in. She made no answer. "Do you wish to give me back this ring?" "What you said was, I thought, equivalent to asking for it." "It was not. You know better." "Why are you quarrelling with me?" Moving an inch nearer, he changed his tone to gentleness, bending his head forward. "Heaven knows that it is bitter enough to do so. Have I cause, Ellen?" Her eyes were bent down: the colour stole into her face again; a half-smile parted her lips. "You know, Ellen, it is perfectly monstrous that a common man like Seeley should dare to cast his aspiring thoughts to you." "Was it my fault?" she returned. "He ought to have seen that--that--I should not like it." "What did you tell him?" "That it was quite impossible; that he was making a mistake altogether. When he was gone, I complained to Mrs. Cumberland." "Insolent jackanapes! Was he rude, Ellen?" "Rude! Mr. Seeley!" she returned in surprise. "Quite the contrary. He has always been as considerate and deferential as a man can be. You look down on his position, Arthur, but he is as great a gentleman in mind as you are." "I only despise his position when he would seek to unite you to it." "It has been very wrong of you to make me confess this. I can tell you I am feeling anything but 'honourable,' as you put it just now. There are things that should never be talked about; this is one of them. Nothing can be more unfair." Very unfair. Captain Bohun's right feeling had come back to him, and he could only assent to it. He began to feel a little ashamed of himself on more points than one. "It shall never escape my lips, Ellen, whilst I breathe. Seeley's secret is safe for me."