“I may not know the full meaning of your words, Miss Neva,” he said, forcing himself to speak calmly. “A romantic young girl like you is sure to have many fancies which time will prune. A young girl’s fancy is like the overflowing of some graceful rose-tree. When time shall have picked off a bud here, a leaf there, or a half-blown rose elsewhere, the remainder of the blossoming will be more perfect. I am no knight of romance, but I am not aware that there is anything ridiculous in my face or figure. Ladies of the world have smiled graciously upon me, and more than one peeress would have taken my name had I but asked her. My heart is fresh and young, full of romantic visions like yours. My love is honest, and a king could offer no better. Miss Wynde, I ask you to be my wife!” Neva’s face was grave now, but the sparkle was still in her eyes, as she said: “I am sure I beg your pardon, Mr. Black, but I thought you were a suitor of Mrs. Artress. I never had an idea that your visits were directed to me. I am deeply grateful for the honor you have done me--I suppose that is the proper remark to make under the circumstances; the ladies in novels always say it--but I must decline it.” “And why, if I may be allowed to ask?” demanded Craven Black, his face deepening in hue nearly to purple. “Why this insulting refusal of an honest offer of marriage, Miss Wynde?” Neva regarded her angry suitor with cool gravity. “I beg your pardon if the manner of my refusal seemed insulting,” she said gently, “but the idea seems so singular--so preposterous! At the risk of offending you again, Mr. Black, I must suggest that a union with Mrs. Artress would be more suitable. I am only a girl, and young still, as you know, and it is proper that youth should mate with youth.” “You prefer my son then?” “To you? I do.” “And you will marry him?” The lovely face shadowed, but Neva answered quietly: “Mr. Rufus has asked me that question, sir, and I prefer to have him receive his answer from my lips. Whatever my feelings toward him, I have no indecision in regard to you.” “And you actually and decidedly refuse me?” “Actually and decidedly, Mr. Black!” “Is there no hope that you may change your mind Miss Wynde? Will no devotion upon my part affect your resolution?” “None whatever. I cannot even give your proposal serious consideration, Mr. Black. I am willing to regard you as a friend. As a lover, pardon me, you would be intolerable to me.” Neva spoke with an honest frankness that increased Craven Black’s anger. He saw that he had no chance of winning her love or her fortune, and it behooved him not to lose the lesser fortune and lesser charms of her step-mother. He tried to take his failure philosophically, but in refusing his love, Neva had made him her bitter and unscrupulous enemy.