"If I am false to her," said Oliver, pleadingly, "I am true to the dictates of my own heart. Hear me, Lesley--pity me! I have promised to marry a woman whom I do not love. I acknowledge it frankly. I shall never make her happy--strive as I may, her nature will never assimilate with mine. She will go through life a disappointed woman; while, if I set her free, she will find some man whom she loves and will be happy with him. You may as well confess that this is true. You may as well acknowledge that her nature is too light, too trivial to be rent asunder by any falsity of mine. Ethel will never break her heart; but you might break yours, Lesley--and I--I also--have a heart to break." Lesley smiled scornfully. "Yours will not break very easily," she said, "and I can answer for mine." "You are strong," he said, using the formula by which men know how to soften women's hearts, "stronger than I am. Be merciful, Lesley! I am very weak, I know; but weakness means suffering. Can you not pity me, when you think that my weakness and my suffering come from love of you?" "I am very sorry, Mr. Trent, but I really cannot help it. It is your own fault--not mine," said Lesley, a little hotly. "I never thought of such a thing." "No, you were as innocent and as good as you always are," he broke in, "and you did not know what you were doing when you led me on with those sweet looks and sweet words of yours. I can believe that. But you did the mischief, Lesley, without meaning it; and you must not refuse to make amends. You made me think you loved me." "Oh, no, no," said Lesley, her face aflame with outraged modesty. "I never made you think so! You were mistaken--that is all!" "You made me think you loved me," Oliver repeated, doggedly, "and you owe me amends. To say the very least, you have given me great pain: you have made me the most miserable of men, and wrecked all chance of happiness between Ethel and myself--have you no heart that you can refuse to repair a little of the harm that you have done? You are a cruel woman--I could almost say a wicked woman: hard, false, and cowardly; and I wish my words could blight your life as your coquetry has blighted mine." Lesley trembled. No woman could listen to such words unmoved, when her armor of incredulity fell from her as Lesley's armor had fallen. Hitherto she had felt a scornful disbelief in the reality of Oliver's love for her. But now that disbelief had gone. There was a ring of passionate feeling in Oliver's tones which could not be simulated. The coldness, the artificiality of the man had disappeared: his passion for Lesley had taken possession of him, and stirred his nature to the very depths.