"The bargain," I went on, "would be quite a fair one. I am offering to buy a thing which is not for sale--therefore, I am willing to pay whatever would tempt the owner to part with it. I am not mixing up any sentiment in the affair. I want the brain of you for my scheme of life, and the laws of the quaintly civilized society to which we belong, do not permit me to hire it--I must buy it outright. I put it to you net--is there any way we can effect this deal?" Her lips were quivering--. "You would say this, no matter what you might hear of my family?" "I am quite unconcerned as to their history. I have observed you, and you possess all the qualities which I want in the partner who can help me to live my new life. For me you are just a personality--" (thus I lied valiantly!) "not a woman." "Can I believe you?" she asked a little breathlessly. "You are thinking of that day when I kissed you--" her lips told me by their sudden drawing in, that she was agitated. "Well--I expect really that you know men well enough, Miss Sharp, to know that they have sudden temptations--but that a strong will can overcome them. I was very much moved about your grief that afternoon, and the suppressed emotion, and the exasperation you had caused me, unbalanced me--I am quite unlikely ever to feel again--if you will marry me, I will give you my word I will never touch you, or expect anything, of you except what you agree to give in the bargain. You can lead your own life--and I can lead mine." I felt suddenly that these last words were not very wise--for they aroused in her mind the thought that I should go on having friends like Suzette. I hastened to add-- "You will have my deepest respect, and as my wife shall be treated with every courtesy and honour." She sat down again and raised her hands to her eyes as though to remove her glasses, and then remembered and dropped them. "I see that you would rather not answer to-day, Miss Sharp--you might prefer to go now and think about it?" "Thank you." She turned and walked back into the little salon without a word more, and when she went I closed my eye exhausted with the great strain. But I did not feel altogether hopeless until Burton came in to tell me lunch was ready and said that Alathea had gone. "The young lady said as how she would not be back she expected, and she took her own pens and things in her bag. She was as white as a lily, give you my word, Sir Nicholas." I am ashamed to say that I felt a little faint then. Had I overstepped the mark, and should I never see her again?