As to what she would now do she did not for a moment doubt. He had been precipitated into the declaration he had made, not by his love, but by his embarrassment. She had thrown in his teeth the injury which he had done her, and he had then been moved by his generosity to repair that injury by the noblest sacrifice which he could make. But Lucy Robarts was not the girl to accept a sacrifice. He had stepped forward as though he were going to clasp her round the waist, but she receded, and got beyond the reach of his hand. “Lord Lufton!” she said, “when you are more cool you will know that this is wrong. The best thing for both of us now is to part.” “Not the best thing, but the very worst, till we perfectly understand each other.” “Then perfectly understand me, that I cannot be your wife.” “Lucy! do you mean that you cannot learn to love me?” “I mean that I shall not try. Do not persevere in this, or you will have to hate yourself for your own folly.” “But I will persevere till you accept my love, or say with your hand on your heart that you cannot and will not love me.” “Then I must beg you to let me go,” and having so said, she paused while he walked once or twice hurriedly up and down the room. “And, Lord Lufton,” she continued, “if you will leave me now, the words that you have spoken shall be as though they had never been uttered.” “I care not who knows that they have been uttered. The sooner that they are known to all the world, the better I shall be pleased, unless indeed—” “Think of your mother, Lord Lufton.” “What can I do better than give her as a daughter the best and sweetest girl I have ever met? When my mother really knows you, she will love you as I do. Lucy, say one word to me of comfort.” “I will say no word to you that shall injure your future comfort. It is impossible that I should be your wife.” “Do you mean that you cannot love me?” “You have no right to press me any further,” she said; and sat down upon the sofa, with an angry frown upon her forehead. “By heavens,” he said, “I will take no such answer from you till you put your hand upon your heart, and say that you cannot love me.” “Oh, why should you press me so, Lord Lufton?” “Why! because my happiness depends upon it; because it behoves me to know the very truth. It has come to this, that I love you with my whole heart, and I must know how your heart stands towards me.” She had now again risen from the sofa, and was looking steadily in his face. “Lord Lufton,” she said, “I cannot love you,” and as she spoke she did put her hand, as he had desired, upon her heart. “Then God help me! for I am very wretched. Good-bye, Lucy,” and he stretched out his hand to her. “Good-bye, my lord. Do not be angry with me.”