And in some unaccountable fashion John Cotley’s tongue was loosed, and he found himself telling Lady Lucy all manner of strange things. About his loneliness, and of how during his somewhat melancholy life he had never hitherto met with a woman whom he could love; of how at first sight of her he had fallen a victim to one of those sudden passions of which he had sometimes heard, but in which he had never hitherto believed; of how absolutely hopeless he knew it to be, what misery, and yet what joy. His face glowed as he spoke, and his eyes were bright with a kind of fierce triumph: she should hear, she should know—at least she should know. Her colour came and went as she listened; now her eyes were drawn to John’s, as though fascinated, now they sought the ground; once or twice she caught her breath with a little gasp. “But a few moments ago,” said John, “I was telling myself that I wished I had never seen you; and now, though I may never see you again, I thank Heaven that this hour at least is mine. One hour, madam, out of a lifetime; it is not much, but at least it is something to look back on.” “To look back on,” she repeated, with an odd expression, and an attempt at lightness. “Surely, sir, it is better to look forward. I, for one, care not for giving way to gloomy thoughts. The whole world lies before us. I, you must know, am about to be introduced to it for the first time: why should not you, too, seek to make a figure in it? Why bury yourself for ever in this solitude?” “Why, madam,” cried John excitedly, “would you have me seek my fortune in London? Oh, if I thought there were the slightest hope—” “Nay, good friend, I spoke not of hope,” returned she; “our ways, as you very truly say, lie apart, and perhaps it is better so; were you to meet me in town, you might think more lowly of me than you do at present.” “How could that be?” he exclaimed eagerly, adding, however, despondently, “but it is folly for me even to talk of such a thing. How could I, plain John Cotley, the unpretending country gentleman, with threadbare clothes and light purse, hope to make my way into the circles which you will adorn. You, who will be courted by the highest in the land, admired by all the fashionable world. Dukes, I suppose,” cried the poor fellow, gloomily, “Dukes and Marquises will be fighting for the privilege of kissing your hand.”