“I am serious,” he said, almost with impatience, taking her hand and pressing it somewhat tightly to keep her attention alive--“I want you to think of what I say. You are dependent here, dependent upon your aunt, who some time or other may feel you a burden; and I could make you rich, and put everything at your feet. You, who are a poor girl, would become a great lady if you married me, Innocent. You would find it pleasant in many ways. You should do what you like, and have what you like, without asking any one’s leave. Yes, and go anywhere--to Pisa if you pleased. I would do whatever you wished, and spend my life in trying to please you--for I am very fond of you, Innocent,” said the man of the world in a tone of appeal which was almost a whimper. What a curious scene it was: she so passive, so unexcited, not understanding nor caring to understand; and he, the wise man, agitated, perplexed, anxious. He had meant that this should be a very different scene. He had meant to put forth his hand and take her to himself, as he might have taken a flower; but this no longer seemed so easy as he looked upon the blankness of her beautiful, wistful, unresponsive face. “Have you no answer to give me?” he said, almost humbly, holding her slender hand between his. “I don’t think I understand,” said Innocent slowly. “I am--stupid, as the servants say. Nelly would go, perhaps, if you were to ask her.” “But it is you I want--you, Innocent! Try to understand--I want you to marry me--to be my wife.” “Like Frederick and--his wife?” asked Innocent, with a shudder. “Pshaw--like any man and his wife,” he said. “Innocent, you are not so foolish as you try to make people think. You must be able to understand this. Do you like me? Tell me that first.” “Yes,” she said calmly, looking at him, grave, and curious, and unabashed. “Then will you marry me? Tell me yes or no.” “Please, no!” said Innocent, with a troubled look. “Please, no----” Sir Alexis dropped the hand he had been holding, and got up and walked about the room. To tell the truth, he was impatient, half angry, annoyed rather than wounded, as men generally are who are refused. Even in the midst of his annoyance he was half inclined to laugh. He had made up his mind to marry her whether she chose or not; but to be refused point-blank by this child was a thing which had scarcely appeared to him possible. It irritated, and vexed, and half-amused him, without in the least altering his purpose and determination. A comical half-wish to have her whipped mingled in his mind with vexation at having made so little impression upon her. After a few moments, during which he calmed himself down by his promenade, he came back and took his seat again, and her hand, which she gave to him smiling. She was glad he was not angry. It was a relief to her mind to find that he did not “scold” her, as so many people felt themselves at liberty to do.