False, cruel girl that she was, how could she encourage me as she had done, to nurse delusive hopes which, as she must have known, would only end in disappointment! What had been probably sport to her was death to me! And yet, I _could_ not believe it of her. My pure angel-natured Min, with her darling madonna-like face and honest, trustful grey eyes, to act like this? No. It could not be. It was impossible. Still, the very next day I saw her walking out alone with the curate. It must be true, then, I thought; and I ground my teeth in anguish. I determined to avoid her, never passing her house as I had been previously accustomed to; and, only bowing coldly when I met her in the street. At last she spoke to me one day, as I was coming out of the vicarage. She was just going to knock at the door; so I encountered her face to face on the step, without a chance of escape. She held out her hand to me. I took it mechanically, and then let it drop; raising my hat at the same time, without saying a word. She addressed me with heightened colour and a wistful look in the deep, grey eyes. "Why are you so angry with me, Frank?" she asked in her sweet, low voice, which had a slight tremble in it as she spoke. "What have I done to offend you? You never stop and speak to me now, never call at our house, and always pass me by with a cold frigid bow! Have I done anything to offend you, Frank?" she entreated again. "If so, tell me; and I will beg your pardon, for it must have been unintentional on my part?" I was foolish, and proud, and conceited. I thought that I would not allow myself to be deceived twice. I was bitter and rude. I made a mockery of all the friendly overtures which she made so lovingly with all the coy bashfulness of her maiden heart. I could have strangled myself afterwards, when I thought it all over! "I'm not aware, Miss Clyde," said I, as stiffly as you please--just as if she were a stranger to me, and not the dear Min whom I knew and loved so well--"I am not aware that there is any necessity for your asking my forgiveness:--if you cannot suggest to yourself the reason for my altered manner, words on my part would be useless indeed!" I spoke thus harshly to her, and coldly, when my heart was almost breaking the while. "And is that all you have got to say to me, Frank?" she said, still in the same dear, tender, entreating voice, and with glistening eyes. My sternness was nearly melted; but I continued to hold out and stand upon my dignity. "I have nothing more to add, Miss Clyde," I said, with another Grandisonian bow.