There was a young assistant music-master, coming twice a week to Miss Chaplin's, who had taken to blushing and paling when Deleah spoke to him. To her great embarrassment a rosebud or a spray of forget-me-not would be found deposited on the chair in which she sat to play propriety when the pupils took their lessons. On the days when with great difficulty she managed to elude Reggie, a lout of a grammar-school sixth-form boy, whose name even she did not know, would watch her exit from the school, and stalk at her heels, keeping sentinel over her, in a way that she felt was making her ridiculous, to her own door. She had caught Mr. Pretty peeping between the biscuit tins to watch her down the street. He would leave any customer he was serving to rush forward with hateful assiduousness with a stool for her to sit on, as soon as she entered the shop. He would entice Franky, who had a great admiration for Mr. Pretty, to sit in the cellar with him of evenings to talk about the younger sister. There was Reggie always pestering; and now here again were the unwelcome attentions of the Honourable Charles. "I do so much wish you would all leave me alone!" "How can I leave you alone when I so much love you, Deleah." "Oh!" said Deleah, impatiently sighing. She knew how young ladies comported themselves under such circumstances in the delightful books of her dear Anthony Trollope; but she was neither angry, nor frightened, nor particularly shy; nor did she feel the inclination to throw herself into any man's arms, and to rest her head on his shoulder. She was uncomfortable under these declarations of love, and felt that she was being made ludicrous; that was all. "You know it, don't you, Deleah?" "Yes. I know it; since you tell me so." "And believe in it? Believe in my desperate love?" "I am sure you don't tell stories, Mr. Gibbon." "Well?" "I think it is a pity." "Why?" "I think you might love some one else." "No! I want you." "You can't have me," said Deleah, pettishly, and feeling more hopelessly inadequate than ever. "I can," Gibbon said, and he said it quite fiercely. "I can! I can! I can! Do you hear?" "I think I will go to bed." Deleah sprang up; she so longed for flight; she looked anxiously to the closed door which was on his side of the table. Gibbon also rose to his feet. "Look at me, Deleah," he said. She looked, and saw the paleness of his face. It made her sick as well as sorry to see how pale the man had become. "Does this mean Mr. Reginald Forcus?" "Certainly not!" "You are not engaged to him?" "Certainly not!" "Look at me; keep on looking." His eyes held hers, she was compelled to look. "Do you like him better than me? He is the best chance, out and out; but for all that he mayn't be the best man. Do you like him the best?" "I don't know that I do." "Now. I've something else to ask you." "No! I think you are too bad. I am very tired. Let me go to bed, Mr. Gibbon." "Answer me first. How about the other one?"