"It may sound heartless," she went on; "I did not mean it to be. I thought it would be better if everything was spoken out clearly between us. I knew you loved me, and I cared for you—I cared for you enough to be glad if I found I loved you. For my own sake I should have been glad. I know my life would be safe in your hands—that you are all an English gentleman need be, but——" "Now comes the ’but,’ he said, with bitterness. "It is no good," she said. "I can’t pretend, can I? When you took my hand, when you spoke, I felt nothing—absolutely nothing, or, perhaps, only a little more critical than usual. I noticed, for instance, that you stoop. It had never struck me before. I tell you that because it shows you just how I feel." "Thank you," he said. She put her hand on his shoulder. "Don’t be angry," she pleaded. "I _do_ care for you." "Then, if you care for me, couldn’t you give me a chance—won’t you trust yourself to me, Nora? Love will come little by little." He had taken her hand again, and she felt that he trembled with restrained feeling. "I have an idea that love never comes little by little," she said. They were a long time silent. Arnold had buried his face on his arms on the cross-bars. Presently he looked up, and met her sorrowful gaze with pale composure. "So it is to be Karlsburg?" he asked. "Yes, I think so." "Nora, I shan’t give up hope." "It wouldn’t be fair of me to say ’don’t.’" "Still, when you come back?" ... "I can’t promise anything," she said, but her eyes were full of pity and kindness. "I am so sorry, Robert." "That’s all right, dear. You can’t help it." He pressed her hand a last time. "I won’t come on now. You understand—I would rather be alone. Good-bye." "Good-bye." She watched him till he was out of sight. A tear rolled down her cheek. She rubbed it quickly and impatiently away. Then she sprang down and went home. She felt shaken and vaguely regretful, and was filled with the one desire to be with her mother. Mrs. Ingestre was in the garden when Nora reached the vicarage. She was looking paler than usual, but she greeted her daughter with the customary grave, affectionate smile. "You are out early to-day," she said. Nora came and slipped her arm through her mother’s. "I have something serious to tell you," she said. "Robert has asked me to be his wife." She spoke quickly, breathlessly, as though disburdening her heart of an uncomfortable load. Mrs. Ingestre said nothing, but waited quietly for what was to come. She held a bunch of roses, and if Nora had been less self-absorbed, she would have seen that the white hand trembled. "I wanted him to propose to me," Nora went on with her confession. "I wanted to find out if I cared—I wanted to care, but—I don’t—not enough. So I said ’No.’ I am glad it is over." Mrs. Ingestre pressed the arm resting on her own.