‘What!’ I exclaimed, starting in my chair. ‘What’s that you say?’ ‘This business about Goguelat,’ he repeated. ‘Ronald,’ said I, ‘this is not your doing. These are not your own words. I know where they came from: a coward put them in your mouth.’ ‘St. Ives!’ he cried, ‘why do you make it so hard for me? and where’s the use of insulting other people? The plain English is, that I can’t hear of any proposal of marriage from a man under a charge like that. You must see it for yourself, man! It’s the most absurd thing I ever heard of! And you go on forcing me to argue with you, too!’ ‘Because I have had an affair of honour which terminated unhappily, you—a young soldier, or next-door to it—refuse my offer? Do I understand you aright?’ said I. ‘My dear fellow!’ he wailed, ‘of course you can twist my words, if you like. You _say_ it was an affair of honour. Well, I can’t, of course, tell you that—I can’t—I mean, you must see that that’s just the point! Was it? I don’t know.’ ‘I have the honour to inform you,’ said I. ‘Well, other people say the reverse, you see!’ ‘They lie, Ronald, and I will prove it in time.’ ‘The short and the long of it is, that any man who is so unfortunate as to have such things said about him is not the man to be my brother-in-law!’ he cried. ‘Do you know who will be my first witness at the court? Arthur Chevenix!’ said I. ‘I don’t care!’ he cried, rising from his chair and beginning to pace outrageously about the room. ‘What do you mean, St. Ives? What is this about? It’s like a dream, I declare! You made an offer, and I have refused it. I don’t like it, I don’t want it; and whatever I did, or didn’t, wouldn’t matter—my aunt wouldn’t bear of it anyway! Can’t you take your answer, man?’ ‘You must remember, Ronald, that we are playing with edged tools,’ said I. ‘An offer of marriage is a delicate subject to handle. You have refused, and you have justified your refusal by several statements: first, that I was an impostor; second, that our countries were at war; and third— No, I will speak,’ said I; ‘you can answer when I have done,—and third, that I had dishonourably killed—or was said to have done so—the man Goguelat. Now, my dear fellow, these are very awkward grounds to be taking. From any one else’s lips I need scarce tell you how I should resent them; but my hands are tied. I have so much gratitude to you, without talking of the love I bear your sister, that you insult me, when you do so, under the cover of a complete impunity. I must feel the pain—and I do feel it acutely—I can do nothing to protect myself.’ He had been anxious enough to interrupt me in the beginning; but now, and after I had ceased, he stood a long while silent.