"Listen to me, Will. I say that I could not do that. But, short of that, there is nothing I would not do to satisfy you. I think so much of your judgment and goodness, and so very much of your affection; I love you so dearly, that--. Oh, Will, say a kind word to me!" "A kind word; yes, but what sort of kindness?" "You must know that Captain Aylmer--" "Don't talk to me of Captain Aylmer. Have I said anything against him? Have I ventured to make any objection? Of course, I know his superiority to myself. I know that he is a man of the world, and that I am not; that he is educated, and that I am ignorant; that he has a position, and that I have none; that he has much to offer, and that I have nothing. Of course, I see the difference; but that does not make me comfortable." "Will, I had learned to love him before I had ever seen you." "Why didn't you tell me so, that I might have known there was no hope, and have gone away utterly,--out of the kingdom? If it was all settled then, why didn't you tell me, and save me from breaking my heart with false hopes?" "Nothing was settled then. I hardly knew my own mind; but yet I loved him. There; cannot you understand it? Have I not told you enough?" "Yes, I understand it." "And do you blame me?" He paused awhile before he answered her. "No; I do not blame you. I suppose I must blame no one but myself. But you should bear with me. I was so happy, and now I am so wretched." There was nothing that she could say to comfort him. She had altogether mistaken the nature of the man's regard, and had even mistaken the very nature of the man. So much she now learned, and could tell herself that had she known him better she would either have prevented this second visit, or would have been careful that he should have learned the truth from herself before he came. Now she could only wait till he should again have got strength to hide his suffering under the veil of his own manliness. "I have not a word to say against what you are doing," he said at last; "not a word. But you will understand what I mean when I tell you that it is not likely that you will come to Plaistow." "Some day, Will, when you have a wife of your own--" "Very well; but we won't talk about that at present, if you please. When I have, things will be different. In the meantime your course and mine will be separate. You, I suppose, will be with him in London, while I shall be,--at the devil as likely as not." "How can you speak to me in that way? Is that like being my brother?" "I don't feel like being your brother. However, I beg your pardon, and now we will have done with it. Spilt milk can't be helped, and my milk pans have got themselves knocked over. That's all. Don't you think we ought to go up to your father again?"