Great tears gathered in her eyes, and fell on her clasped hands. Why, or why, did he unman her! He was playing with the twig again, and pretending not to notice. “Isn’t that so?” he asked. She caught her breath and steadied her voice with an effort. “I have been very fortunate,” she said. “I might have had to go right away from everybody as a nursery governess, instead of having so many friends, and such a nice post, and plenty of liberty.” “But it is still London, isn’t it? And after all, even friends are hardly to you what the mountains, and the loch, and the country life were. Be honest, Paddy,” suddenly looking into her face. “Don’t you just hate to have to go away and leave it all again?—don’t you just hate it like the devil?” She threw back her head with a sudden jerk, as if from some unendurable thought. “Oh, yes—yes,” she breathed, “like the devil, there is no other word. But what of it? I am going—I must go—I am not the only one who has had to give up a country home. Why do you make it harder for me? Why do you remind me of it at all?” He leaned toward her, and she felt his eyes looking through into her soul. “I remind you, because I don’t want you to go. Do you think it doesn’t hurt me too—_now_? I, with all that I have—you with nothing—not even your own special chum since the General died.” She drew her hand across her eyes hurriedly. “And it isn’t as if you were obliged to go.” He was leaning nearer—nearer. “Paddy, dear little woman, don’t go. Give it all up and stay here with me.” “No, no. It is impossible. Please leave off. Why won’t you understand?” and she wrung her hands together. “It is _not_ impossible,” resolutely, “and it must be. It has got to be, Paddy. It is you who won’t understand.” Then he ran on whimsically, giving her time to collect herself: “Good Lord! it seems only the other day I was carrying you round on my shoulder, when I came home from Eton for the holidays. I remember I thought, you were the ugliest little creature I had ever set eyes on. You were so ugly, you fascinated; I couldn’t take my eyes off you. But even then you had a way with you. Every one always did exactly as you wanted. If they didn’t, you got into no end of a fury, and hit out right and left. It was awful sport making you wild, Paddy. Sometimes, when I’ve got hold of you, you’ve kicked at me as hard as you could with your fat little legs, but I always enjoyed the fun of it. I didn’t think I’d ever want to marry you, though,” with a whimsical smile; “it would have seemed too much like inviting a hurricane to one’s fireside. It’s quite the very last thing that would ever have entered my head, until—until—” he paused. “I don’t know when it began, Paddy, but now I want nothing else in heaven or earth.” “Please don’t go on,” she managed to say; “please don’t.”