’But,’ said he, coldly, ’that is not all. Our families are so wide apart in the social scale. My aunt is very proud of her race, and you know your stock is not—well, neither ancient nor gentle. You may change your creed, but not your blood. I think nothing of this. If I had considered it, I would not have sought to marry you, but my aunt—you see we are speaking of her, and you propose that I should take you to her—my aunt is very stiff in these matters. I cannot force you into her house. So you see this scheme is impracticable also.’ ’Where am I to go?’ asked Orange, desperately; ’I must live somewhere. You are my proper protector, to whom I fly. I ask you, find me, give me a home. See, Harry, I am poor now, but it may not always be so. The directors of Ophir have left us some thousands of pounds in Patagonian bonds.’ ’Oh! I know them. They were left because worthless.’ ’They are worthless now, but they may become valuable hereafter. Let us wait till then; I will be patient, and in time you will marry me.’ ’Oh, certainly, when the Patagonians are at par.’ ’But in the meantime, Harry, what is to become of me?’ ’Really, I am at a loss to know. I am at my wits’ end what to propose.’ Then her cheek and brow became crimson. ’Harry! I am sunk so low that I care not what the world says, and what becomes of me. I will stay here; you shall not send me away. I have no pride left. Let me be a poor serving maid, a kitchen-wench in the house, and work for you. If the world talks, let it—I defy it.’ Trecarrel sprang back. This was indeed madness. She must be cured. ’Orange!’ he said, ’I am too honourable to listen to such words with composure. Go back whence you came. Here! I will accompany you. You must not be alone.’ ’No, I came alone, and I can go alone. But—what is to become of me?’ ’You think only of yourself, Orange; you are selfish. Poor Mirelle! how she must suffer also. What is to become of that sweet and fragile flower?’ Orange looked him full in the eyes. A light flickered and flashed in hers, a terrible light. She stood as a statue before him for a moment. Fierce thoughts, wild, dark, like smoke from the bottomless pit, rose, and rolled over and obscured her brain. ’Poor Mirelle! Sweet and fragile flower!’ At that moment, with her, Orange, pleading before him, with her in an agony and in abasement before him, he could think of Mirelle, and throw Mirelle in her teeth. Then she turned to the door. All hope was gone. ’Let me attend you home,’ he said. ’I have no home,’ she answered hoarsely. ’Let me go with you to where you are lodging.’ ’I came alone, I will return alone,’ she said, and left the room. She hurried into the road. When there, however, she stood and waited. Would he come after her? She waited on; the light in his smoking-room disappeared, it reappeared at another window, and travelled upwards, then shone out of an upstair room. Captain Trecarrel was going to bed.