Lesley looked at him in much amaze. Whither this conversation was tending it had not yet occurred to her to inquire. But something in his look, as he stood fronting her, brought the color to her cheeks and caused her eyes to sink. She became suddenly a little afraid of him, and wished herself a thousand miles away. Indeed she made one backward step, as if her maidenly instincts were about to manifest themselves in actual flight. But Maurice saw the movement, and made two steps forward, which brought him so close to her that he could have touched her hand if he had wished. "Don't you understand?" he said, in an agitated voice. "Don't you see that your opinion--your preferences--are all the world to me?" He paused as if expecting her to reply--leaning a little towards her to catch the word from her lips. But Lesley did not speak. She remained motionless, as pale now as she had been red before--her hands hanging at her sides and her eyes fixed upon the ground. She looked as if she were stricken dumb with dismay. "I know that I have not recommended myself to you by anything that I have said or done," Maurice went on. "I misjudged you once, and I spoke roughly, rudely, brutally; but it was the way you took what I said which made me understand you. You were so fine, so noble, so sweet! Instead of making my stupidity an excuse for shutting yourself away from what your father was doing, you immediately threw yourself into it, you began to work with him and for him--as of course I might have seen that you would do directly you came to know him. I was a fool, and you were an angel--that summarizes the situation." A faint smile curled Lesley's lips, although she did not look up. "I am afraid there is not much of the angel about me," she said. "Ah, you can't see yourself as others see you," he answered, quite ignoring the implication in her remark which a less ardent lover might have resented. "To me, at any rate, you are the one woman in the world, the only one I have ever loved--shall ever love as long as I live--the fulfilment of my ideal--the realization of all my dreams!" His vehemence made Lesley draw back. "You exaggerate," she said with a slight shake of the head. "Indeed, I am not all that--I could not be. I am very ignorant and full of faults. I have a bad temper----" "You have a temper that is sweetness itself!" "Oh, Mr. Kenyon, how can you say so?"--with a look of reproach. "You who have seen me so angry!" "Your temper is just like your father's," said Maurice, dogmatically. "A little hot, if you like, but sweet----" "Something like preserved ginger?" asked Lesley. The two young people looked at each other with laughter in their eyes. This was Lesley's way of trying to stave off the inevitable. If Maurice's declaration could only be construed into idle compliment, she would be rid of the necessity of giving him a plain answer. And what had been begun as a proposal of marriage seemed likely to degenerate into a fencing match.