There was something in his tone which jarred upon her instantly. She made a step forward, and held out her hand appealingly--"Lionel," she said, quite softly, "Lionel, you know me?" "Know you?" he repeated. "O yes--I--I have that honour. I know you fast enough--though what you do here I _don't_ know. What do you do here?" "I came to see you." "Devilish polite, I'm sure. But--now you have seen me--" he hesitated and smiled. Not a pleasant smile by any means: one of those smiles in which the teeth are never shown. A very grim smile, which slightly wrinkled the lips, but left the eyes hard and defiant; a smile which Margaret knew of old, the sight of which recalled the commencement of scenes of violent passion and bitter upbraiding in the old times; a smile at sight of which Margaret's heart sank within her, only leaving her strength enough to say: "Well!" "Well!" he repeated--"having seen me--having fulfilled the intention of your visit--had you not better--go?" "Go!" she exclaimed--"leave you at once, without a look, without a word! Go! after all the long weary waiting, this hungering to see and speak with you to pillow my head on your breast, and twine my arms round you as I used to do in the dear old days! Go! in the moment when I am repaid for O such misery as you, Lionel, I am sure, cannot imagine I have endured--the misery of absence from you; the misery of not knowing how or where you were--whether even you were dead or alive; misery made all the keener by recollection of joy which I had known and shared with you. Go! Lionel, dearest Lionel, you cannot mean it! Don't try me now, Lionel; the delight at seeing you again has made me weak and faint. I am not so strong as I used to be. Lionel, dearest, don't try me too much." Never had she looked more beautiful than now. Her arms were stretched out in entreaty, the rich tones of her voice were broken, tears stood in her deep-violet eyes, and the dead-gold hair was pushed off the dead-white brow. Her whole frame quivered with emotion--emotion which she made no attempt to conceal. Lionel Brakespere had seated himself on the corner of the table, and was looking at her with curiosity. He comprehended the beauty of the picture before him, but he regarded it as a picture. On most other men in his position such an appeal from such a woman would have caused at least a temporary rekindling of the old passion; on him it had not the slightest effect, beyond giving him a kind of idea that the situation was somewhat ridiculous and slightly annoying. After a minute's interval he said, with his hands in his pockets, and his legs swinging to and fro: "It's deuced kind of you to say such civil things about me, and I appreciate them--appreciate them, I assure you. But, you see the fact of the matter is, that I'm expecting my mother every minute, and if she were to find you here, I should be rather awkwardly situated."