He paused. He had been on the point of saying that he would not press for the marriage taking place before the summer, when he happily remembered that he had not yet gone through the form of asking Constance whether she would marry him or not. To him it seemed so like merely taking up the thread of a story temporarily interrupted, that he had lost sight of the probability that Constance's mind had not been keeping pace with his own on the subject. But it recurred to him in time. Constance was sitting on a low couch near the fireside, at some distance from him. He now took his place beside her. There was a certain awkwardness in making a proposal of marriage across a spacious room. "There can be no need of many words between us, Constance," he began, with as much tenderness of manner as he could call up. Then he stopped. Constance had drawn away the skirt of her gown on the side next to him, and was examining it attentively. "What is the matter?" he asked. "I thought you had accidentally set your boot on the hem of my frock," she said. "And the roads are so muddy, although it is fine overhead! But it's all right. I beg your pardon: you were saying----?" This interruption was disconcerting. He had had in his head an elaborate sentence which was now dispersed and irrecoverable. He must begin all over again. However, when fairly started once more, his eloquence did not fail him. He offered his hand and fortune to Miss Hadlow, "in good set terms." She was silent when he had finished, and he ventured to take her hand. "Am I not to have an answer, dearest Constance?" he asked. She drew her hand away very gently and with perfect composure before saying, as she looked full at him with her fine dark eyes-- "You are not joking, then?" "_Joking!_" "Well, I know you are not given to joking, and this would certainly be an inconceivably bad joke; but it is almost more inconceivable that you should be in earnest." He was fairly bewildered, and doubtful of her meaning. "However," she continued, "if you really expect a serious answer, you must have it. No, thank you." He stood up erect and stiff, as if moved by a spring. She remained leaning back in an easy attitude on the couch, and looking at him. "I----Constance!----I don't understand you!" he exclaimed. "I refuse you," she replied in a gentle voice, and with her best society drawl. "Distinctly, decidedly, and unhesitatingly. I think you _must_ understand that. Won't you stay and see Lady Belcraft?" (Theodore had taken up his hat, and was moving towards the door.) "Oh, very well. I will make your excuses." She rang the bell, which was within reach of her hand, and Theodore walked out of the room without proffering another word. CHAPTER XIV.