"Please don't say that, for I must ask you to interpret one to-night. What does Shakespeare say about those who have power? I hope you will use yours mercifully. Oh, Miss Hargrove, you are so beautiful that I believe I should lose my reason if you sent me away without hope." "Mr. Clifford, you are talking wildly," was her faint response. "I fear I am. I am almost desperate from fear, for I have a terribly hard duty to perform." "Indeed!" she said, withdrawing her hand, which he relinquished most reluctantly, dreading that he might never receive it again. "Do not assume that attitude, Miss Hargrove, or I shall lose courage utterly." "Truly, Mr. Clifford," she said, a little satirically, seating herself on a sofa, "I never imagined you deficient in courage. Is it a terrible duty to entertain me for a half-hour, and say good-by?" "Yes. Nothing could be worse than that, if that were all;" and he looked at her appealingly and in such perplexed distress that she laughed outright. "I am very much in earnest, Miss Hargrove." "You are very enigmatical, Mr. Clifford. Must I be present while you perform this terrible duty?" "I think you know what I must confess already, and have a world of scorn in store for me. Do not judge me harshly. Whatever the end may be, and my sense of ill-desert is heavy indeed, I shall begin on the basis of absolute truth. You shall know the worst. I've asked your father for the privilege of winning your love;" and then he hesitated, not knowing how to go on. "Is that the worst?" she asked, demurely.