"Why, the first time I met you," she answered. "You're not the only person who has a memory and feelings and all that. I know you must think me a brute, and so I am; but still, I'm not quite a woman of stone!" "I have told you what I think of you," said he very quietly. "Now tell me what I can do for you, and _him_." "Do you mean," she asked, peeping slyly out of her little useless handkerchief, "that you would actually give me up to somebody else, and part with your _money_, which is always a criterion of sincerity, for such an object? Mr. Goldthred, is _that_ what you call love?" "I only want you to be happy," said he. "I don't understand much about love and flirtation; and these things people make such a talk about. I want to see you happy. No, not that; for I should avoid seeing you, at least just at first; but I should like to _know_ you were happy, and that it was my doing." He turned, and leaned his elbows on the chimney-piece, not to look in the glass; for his face was buried in his hands, so that she had some difficulty in attracting his attention. It was not a romantic action; but she gave a gentle pull at his coat-tails. "You _can_ make me happy," she whispered, with a deep and very becoming blush. "I don't think it will be at all inconvenient or unpleasant to you, only--only--you know I can't exactly suggest it first." He turned as if he was shot. With white face and parted lips, never man looked more astonished, while he gasped out, "And you wouldn't marry Sir Henry Hallaton?" She shook her head with a very bewitching smile. "And you _would_ marry me?" he continued, hardly daring to believe it was not all a dream. "You've never asked me," was the reply; but he was on the sofa at her side by this time, whispering his answer so closely in her ear, that I doubt if either heard it, while both knew pretty well what it meant; and though their subsequent conversation was carried on in a strange mixture of broken sentences, irrational expressions, and idiotic dumb show, it took less than ten minutes to arrive at a definite conclusion, entailing on Goldthred the necessity of immediate correspondence with his nearest relatives, and a visit to Doctors' Commons at no far distant date. But, happy as he felt, breathing elixir, treading upon air, while walking home to dress for dinner, he found time for the purchase of such a beautiful fan as can hardly be got for money, and sent it forthwith to Kate Cremorne, with the following line written in pencil on his card--_Il faut se faire valoir_. CHAPTER XXIX. DAYBREAK.