Sebastian’s lips were parted to speak, but he could not utter the words he intended to say. He was silent with a disagreeable, discomfiting sense that he was baffled and defeated. They were all silent till Sebastian said, ‘Well, since you will not, you will not. But I think you are mistaken in your course, and what is more, I think you will repent it before long. If you do, if you should come to change your mind, let me know. I have no wish to take my word back, but shall always be ready to abide by it.’ Myles smiled, almost scornfully, as he bowed his head slightly and said, ‘Thank you.’ In his inmost heart he was thinking that he would rather die than place himself under obligations to his rival, whose full formidableness he only realised to-night. There was, he confessed it, fully and frankly to himself, something extremely attractive about the grace and courtesy of Sebastian, but the most dangerous quality was the power which soon became distinctly visible beneath the polish; a power which forced the observer, however reluctantly, to respect as well as to admire. If he, the unwilling and prejudiced, felt these things so strongly, how much more must others, already prejudiced in his favour, experience it? So much the more reason why he, the plain and unadorned, should keep himself to himself, follow his own path, and not ape qualities so different from his own. But he had ceased to bear any ill-will to Sebastian. The latter did not know how far he had advanced in the very moment in which he seemed to have receded. ‘I will not intrude upon you any longer,’ said he. ‘You bear no resentment, I trust, but understand my motives?’ ‘I bear no resentment at all,’ said poor Myles, putting his hand without hesitation into that held out to him. ‘If I have been rather rough, I beg your pardon. It is my way. I meant no incivility.’ ‘I am sure of it. Good night,’ he added, turning to Edmund. ‘Good night, Miss Heywood.’ ‘Good night, sir,’ said Mary, looking tearfully up, as Sebastian followed Myles from the room. She heard the door open and shut, and the steps of the unwonted visitor going away. Then Myles returned to the kitchen. Edmund was tired. Myles helped him upstairs, and came down again. They scarcely spoke. Mary uttered no reproach, and he offered no apology; but when she got up to go to bed, he kissed her tenderly, saying, ‘Don’t think too hardly of me, Molly. I can’t do otherwise and be an honest man at the same time.’ ‘I’m none thinking of blaming thee, lad,’ said Mary, escaping from him, and going upstairs. He remained there a long time, brooding over the embers of the fire, and thinking, if only things had been different! And as he thought, a vision rose before him of that Sunday afternoon when he had so nearly betrayed himself, and he remembered Adrienne’s words: ‘If I loved that man, and he loved me, and asked me to be his wife, I would say yes; and I would love him and serve him as long as I lived.’