‘Ah! you cannot surely be so hard upon me,’ cried Oswald, in real terror, for it had not occurred to him that she would, in cold blood, send him away. ‘Don’t banish me!’ he cried. ‘Tell me what I am to do for the introduction--where am I to go? I will do anything. Is it my fault that I did not know you till that day?--till that good child, bless her, broke her leg. I shall always be grateful to poor little Emmy. She shall have a crutch of gold if she likes. She shall never want anything I can give her. Do you think I don’t feel the want of that formula of an introduction? With that I should be happy. I should be able to see you at other times than hospital days, in other places than the streets. The streets are beautiful ever since I knew you,’ cried the young man, warming with his own words, which made him feel the whole situation much more forcibly than before, and moved him at least, whether they moved her or not. ‘Oh!’ cried Agnes, in distress, ‘you must not talk to me so. You must not come with me, Mr. Meredith; is not my dress enough----’ ‘There now!’ he said, ‘see what a disadvantage I am under. I dare not call you Agnes, which is the only sweet name I know. And your dress! You told me yourself you were not a Sister.’ ‘It is quite true,’ she said, looking at him, trying another experiment. ‘I am a poor teacher, quite out of your sphere.’ ‘But then, fortunately, I am not poor,’ said Oswald, almost gaily, in sudden triumph. ‘Only tell me where your people are, where I am to go for that introduction. I thank thee, Lady Agnes, Princess Agnes, for teaching me that word. I will get my introduction or die.’