"I dare say, Lady Cicely, though somehow you look sad enough, you a'n't _vexed_ to see me here? Eh? There's many and many a woman in London that would--but it's no use now. 'Pon my soul, I love you, I do, Lady Cicely;" she trembled violently, for he was drawing his chair nearer to her. She felt sick--sick almost to death; and a mist came for a moment over her eyes. "I know it's--it's a monstrous unpleasant piece of--I mean, it's an awkward thing to do; but I hope you love _me_, Lady Cicely, eh! a little?" Her head hung down, and a very scalding tear oozed out and trickled down her cheek. "Hope you aren't sorry, dear Lady Cicely? _I'm_ most uncommon proud and happy! Come, Lady Cicely." He took the thin white hand that was nearest him, and raised it to his lips. Had his perceptions been only a trifle keener, he could not have failed to observe a faint thrill pervade Lady Cecilia as he performed this act of gallantry, and an expression of features which looked very much like disgust. He had, however, seen love made on the stage, frequently; and, as he had seen lovers do there, he now dropped down on one knee, still holding Lady Cecilia's hand in his, and pressing it a second time to his lips. "If your Ladyship will only make me--so happy--as to be--my wife--'pon my life you're welcome to all I have; and you may consider this place entirely your own! Do you understand me, dearest Lady Cicely? Come! 'Pon my life--I'm quite distracted--do you love me, Lady Cicely? Only say the word." A faint--a very faint sound issued from her lips--'twas--blush for her, my lady reader--"YES." [Oh, poor Lady Cecilia! Oh, fatal--fatal falsehood!] "Then, as true as God's in heaven, dear gal, I love you," said he, with ardor and energy; and rising from his knee, he sat down beside her upon the sofa--placed an arm round her waist; with his other hand grasped hers--and--imprinted a kiss upon the pale cheek which had been so haughtily withdrawn from the presumptuous advances of the Marquis de Millefleurs, and from some half dozen others; several of whom had been men of commanding pretensions--elegant in person and manners--of great accomplishments--of intellect--of considerable fortune--of good family; but in her opinion, and that of the earl her father, not of family good _enough_, nor fortune considerable _enough_, to entitle any of them to an alliance with her. "'Pon my life, Lady Cicely, you _are_ a most lovely gal," quoth Titmouse, with increasing energy--"and now you're all my own! Though I _am_ only plain Mr. Titmouse, and you'll be Lady Cicely still--I'll make you a good husband!" and again he pressed her hand and kissed her cold cheek. But slow and dull as were the Lady Cecilia's feelings, they were becoming too much excited to admit of her continuing much longer in the room.