“On Thursday,” she said, mechanically; “on Thursday-- You shall not complain of me any more.” She held out her hand to him with a smile, apologetic and deprecatory, which was very sweet, which threw him into a bewilderment unspeakable. She was cruel without knowing it, without intending it. She had, she thought, something to make up to this man, and how could she do it but by kindness--by showing him that she was grateful--that she liked and honored him? He went away asking himself a thousand questions, going over and over her simple words, extracting meanings from them of which they were entirely innocent, framing them at last to the signification which he wished. He started from Bonport full of doubt and uneasiness, but before he reached his hotel a foolish elation had got the better of these sadder sentiments. He said to himself that these words could have but one meaning. “You shall not complain of me any more.” But if she cast him off after this long probation he would have very good reason to complain. It was impossible that she should prepare a refusal by such words; and, indeed, if she had meant to refuse him, could she have postponed her answer again? Is it not honor in a woman to say “No” without delay, unless she means to say “Yes?” It is the only claim of honor upon her, who makes so many claims upon the honor of men, to say “No,” if she means “No.” No one could mistake that primary rule. When she said “Thursday,” was it not the last assurance she could give before a final acceptance, and “You shall not complain of me any more?” This is a consequence of the competitive system in love which Mr. Ruskin evidently did not foresee, for Rosalind, on the other hand, was right enough when she tried to assure herself that she had not wished for his love, had not sought it in any way, that she should be made responsible for its discomfiture. Rivers employed his time of suspense in making arrangements for his departure. He was a proud man, and he would not have it said that he had left Aix hastily in consequence of his disappointment. In the evening he wrote some letters, vaguely announcing a speedy return. “Perhaps almost as soon as you receive this,” he said, always guarding against the possibility of a sudden departure; and then he said to himself that such a thing was impossible. This was how he spent the intervening days. He had almost forgotten by this time, in the intensity of personal feeling, the disappointment and shock to his pride involved in the fact that the lady of the garden had appeared no more.