"I will not speak of honour as between him and me or between me and you. With me and your father honesty was concerned. He has believed me, and has accepted me as his son-in-law. With us, Marion, with us two, all alone as we are here together, all in all to each other as I hope we are to be, only love can be brought in question. Marion, Marion!" Then he threw himself on his knees before her, and embraced her as she was sitting. "No, my lord; no; it must not be." But now he had both her hands in his, and was looking into her face. Now was the time to speak of duty,--and to speak with some strength, if what she might say was to have any avail. "It shall not be so, my lord." Then she did regain her hands, and struggled up from the sofa on to her feet. "I, too, believe in your honesty. I am sure of it, as I am of my own. But you do not understand me. Think of me as though I were your sister." "As my sister?" "What would you have your sister do if a man came to her then, whom she knew that she could never marry? Would you have her submit to his embrace because she knew him to be honest?" "Not unless she loved him." "It would have nothing to do with it, Lord Hampstead." "Nothing, Marion!" "Nothing, my lord. You will think that I am giving myself airs if I speak of my duty." "Your father has allowed me to come." "I owe him duty, no doubt. Had he bade me never to see you, I hope that that would have sufficed. But there are other duties than that,--a duty even higher than that." "What duty, Marion?" "That which I owe to you. If I had promised to be your wife--" "Do promise it." "Had I so promised, should I not then have been bound to think first of your happiness?" "You would have accomplished it, at any rate." "Though I cannot be your wife I do not owe it you the less to think of it,--seeing all that you are willing to do for me,--and I will think of it. I am grateful to you." "Do you love me?" "Let me speak, Lord Hampstead. It is not civil in you to interrupt me in that way. I am thoroughly grateful, and I will not show my gratitude by doing that which I know would ruin you." "Do you love me?" "Not if I loved you with all my heart,--" and she spread out her arms as though to assure herself how she did love him with all her very soul,--"would I for that be brought even to think of doing the thing that you ask me." "Marion!" "No,--no. We are utterly unfit for each other." She had made her first declaration as to duty, and now she was going on as to that second profession which she intended should be, if possible, the last. "You are as high as blood and wealth and great friends can make you. I am nothing. You have called me a lady." "If God ever made one, you are she."