"Do you think me so base as to tease you on such a subject? What shall I do to persuade you that I am sincere." "Let me go home." "May I go with you?" "I would rather you did not come, please." "Why are you so unkind?" I asked, taking her hand. "Tell me you love me, and let us be happy." "But I don't love you," she said, trying to withdraw her hand, and the tears coming into her eyes. "I don't love you, and I want to go home." She turned from me to hide her face, looking about at the same time for some way of escape. "But you will love me by to-morrow," I replied soothingly. "I may ask you again, may I not?" and then she looked so pitiful, with the tears rolling from her frightened eyes and her hand trembling in mine, that I thought I would put my arm around her--to comfort her, you know. "Poor child!" I said, drawing her to me as they do in the theatre, "you don't know your own heart: rest here." I wish you had seen her!--I _wish_ you had seen her! She drew herself from me quivering with indignation, her eyes% sparkled, and she was in such a rage that she could hardly speak, but after an effort she broke forth in a torrent of words: "I have an utter contempt for you, and I will bear this no longer. You think you are irresistible--that all the girls are in love with you--that your wealth buys you impunity--that your position will excuse your rudeness--and that you can dispense with politeness because your name is Highrank! I would like to box your ears. I despise you and your behavior so thoroughly that were you a hundred times in earnest in asking me to marry you, I would refuse you a hundred times!" Then she rushed past me, and I was so astonished that I did not try to prevent her.