"I believe I was," he interrupted, "but I'll risk the pain." "No doubt," she answered bitterly; "self-inflicted pain is always bearable. But for the girl--why not consider her comfort? It is always a disagreeable thing to refuse, and a man who forces a girl into that position without due cause is----" "Is what?" "A presumptuous cad, my dear Paul." "Thank you! You are clever, Violet, and your conclusions are generally right; but in this case you argue without knowledge of the premises." "I know that Paul Macleod never did and never will come under that category," she replied readily, "and that is enough for me." "If it were true, but it is not." He had not meant to tell her the truth, but a certain contrariety led him on. "I used not to be one, perhaps; but I was one to her. That last night, after I was engaged to Alice, I told her that I loved her." A little fine smile showed on Mrs. Vane's face. "Well, it was not fair on Alice, but it was very like Paul. Only why repeat the mistake?" "You do not understand. I was half mad, I think, at leaving her--and at her unconsciousness. And then--and then, I kissed her." "Really? That was very naughty, of course; but still more like Paul." He winced, as if she had struck him. "Don't laugh, Violet, as if it were the old story; it isn't." His tone struck a chill of fear to her heart, yet she still kept up her amused serenity. "Is it not? Yet she is surely not the first girl you have kissed without a 'by your leave.'" He was silent, and then to her infinite surprise, as he sate leaning forward looking into the fire, covered his face with his hands as if to shut out an unwelcome sight. "You don't understand," he said, in a low voice. "She hadn't a reproach--she--I can see the look in her eyes still." There was another silence, and then Mrs. Vane's voice came with an indescribable chill in it: "You mean that she loved you, or you think she did." "I am sure of it. She did not deny it. Violet! she is the first woman, I verily believe, who has loved me truly, and I repaid her by insult." A dangerous rush of sheer anger came to send tact and prudence to the wind for the time. "You say that! The only woman! Then I say, Paul, that you insult others by your doubts--others who have loved you longer. Paul!" She was very close upon the verge, when she pulled herself up short, and gave a little laugh. "You cannot think her love very deep if you say she will refuse you. But what reason have you to think she will? Because you kissed her? That is absurd, and you know it. I believe you wish her to accept you." "Do I?" he asked wearily; "for the life of me I scarcely know; but I mean to ask her. I must. Surely you can see that; you generally understand me." "I do understand you, Paul; better perhaps than you understand yourself. That is why I tell you not to go down to Gleneira. You are _tête montée_ now. You are not yourself. Look the matter in the face! Supposing she were to accept you; what then?"