"I think Mrs. Bowen is right," he said gravely, in answer to the eyes of Imogene. He continued, with a flicker of his wonted mood: "You must consider me a little in the matter. I have some small shreds of self-respect about me somewhere, and I would rather not be put in the attitude of defying your family, or ignoring them." "No," said Imogene, in the same effect of arrest. "When it isn't absolutely necessary," continued Colville. "Especially as you say there will be no opposition." "Of course," Imogene assented; and in fact what he said was very just, and he knew it; but he could perceive that he had suffered loss with her. A furtive glance at Mrs. Bowen did not assure him that he had made a compensating gain in that direction, where, indeed, he had no right to wish for any. "Well, then," the girl went on, "it shall be so. We will wait. It will only be waiting. I ought to have thought of you before; I make a bad beginning," she said tremulously. "I supposed I was thinking of you; but I see that I was only thinking of myself." The tears stood in her eyes. Mrs. Bowen, quite overlooked in this apology, slipped from the room. "Imogene!" said Colville, coming toward her. She dropped herself upon his shoulder. "Oh, why, why, why am I so miserable?" "Miserable, Imogene!" he murmured, stroking her beautiful hair. "Yes, yes! Utterly miserable! It must be because I'm unworthy of you--unequal every way. If you think so, cast me off at once. Don't be weakly merciful!" The words pierced his heart. "I would give the world to make you happy, my child!" he said, with perfidious truth, and a sigh that came from the bottom of his soul. "Sit down here by me," he said, moving to the sofa; and with whatever obscure sense of duty to her innocent self-abandon, he made a space between them, and reduced her embrace to a clasp of the hand she left with him. "Now tell me," he said, "what is it makes you unhappy?" "Oh, I don't know," she answered, drying her averted eyes. "I suppose I am overwrought from not sleeping, and from thinking how we should arrange it all." "And now that it's all arranged, can't you be cheerful again?" "Yes." "You're satisfied with the way we've arranged it? Because if--" "Oh, perfectly--perfectly!" She hastily interrupted. "I wouldn't have it otherwise. Of course," she added, "it wasn't very pleasant having some one else suggest what I ought to have thought of myself, and seem more delicate about you than I was." "Some one else?" "You know! Mrs. Bowen." "Oh! But I couldn't see that she was anxious to spare me. It occurred to me that she was concerned about your family." "It led up to the other! it's all the same thing." "Well, even in that case, I don't see why you should mind it. It was certainly very friendly of her, and I know that she has your interest at heart entirely." "Yes; she knows how to make it seem so."