"I must get back to my facts," said John Merton, quietly. "I suppose I showed that I was annoyed that night, and from my annoyance Bella judged that I was in earnest about you. We don't meet very often, and we have very little in common, for she is younger than I am, and does not take quite the same view of the world that I do--she has not seen so much of it, poor girl; and for a long time you were not mentioned between us. During all the time that I was in suspense, before I had made up my mind to express my feelings to you, and ask you to be my wife, and after that in the short period before I met you walking in the street, we seemed mutually to avoid any mention of your name. It seemed to me too sacred to be bandied about with such jests and light talk as Bella would probably have used concerning it; and she seemed to understand my feeling and to humour it. At all events, during that time nothing was said about you; but since then--since I heard from your own lips what was equivalent to my dismissal--we have frequently reverted to the theme. You will understand, please, that in mentioning what I am going to tell you, I am by no means endeavouring to harrow your feelings, or to work upon your compassion; it simply comes in as part of what I have to say; and I must say it." John might have spared himself this digression, for Daisy was in no melting mood, and sat listening, half-sternly contemptuous, half-savagely irate. All the notice she took of these remarks was to give a very slight bow. "I was completely upset by your decision," John continued; "and though I ought never to have expected anything else, that came so suddenly upon me, the pleasing path in dreamland was so abruptly ended, the visions which I had indulged were so ruthlessly chased away----" Here Daisy tapped her foot very impatiently. John started, and said, "I beg your pardon," so comically, that Daisy could scarcely refrain from smiling.