“I don’t think it would become me to say any more,” he said frankly, “considering, as I’ve told you, that I’m jealous.” Again a faint smile flickered over Rachel’s face, then, in a sweet, low voice, she said-- “I like you to be jealous, Mr. Buckland.” But he burst out passionately-- “Don’t. You have no right to use me like this, no right to send for me to talk about your intended marriage with another man, and then--and then--to try--to try--” “To try to make you see that I’m grateful for the interest you’ve taken in me, that I appreciate your generosity, that I take pleasure in your society? Is that what I have no right to do, Mr. Buckland?” But Gerard would not be brow-beaten. He stuck to his guns. “Yes,” he said stoutly, “that’s what I contend. If you, knowing as you do that I’m madly in love with you, that I’ve loved you through everything, in the face of mysteries and secrets which were enough to make me decide never to speak to you again, in the face of--other things of which I scarcely dare speak--if you, knowing all this, as I say, have sent for me only to tell me you’re grateful for my interest and all the rest of it, you’re treating me badly. You have no right to try to make me think of you more than I do, no right even to be kind, unless--unless--” He paused, and she answered steadily-- “Unless I’m prepared to give up my career, my position, my friends, even, all for you? Is that what you mean?” She said this with raised eyebrows, as if expecting him to receive her speech with a denial; but he took up the challenge at once. “Yes,” he said, “that, I suppose, is what I do mean. I don’t think you ought to encourage a man to the extent you are encouraging that young Van Santen, and to try to encourage me--at the same time. It doesn’t matter when a girl plays that sort of game with men who don’t really care for her. But this Yankee fellow appears to be in earnest, and by Jove! you can’t pretend to know that I’m not. You ought to make up your mind, and throw over the one, and stick to the other.” “I don’t think you appreciate the difficulty of my position, Mr. Buckland.” “I don’t suppose I do. How can I? You don’t take me into your confidence. And I’m ready to do without that. All I ask is that you should decide for your own happiness. If you think you will be happier with Van Santen for a husband than with me, why marry him and be happy; but I don’t believe, somehow, that you do think that. I don’t think you would send for me if you had nothing but that to tell me. Come, Rachel, why did you send for me? What had you to tell me?” Miss Davison’s handsome face quivered. “I almost wish,” she said, “now, that I hadn’t sent for you; but--” Suddenly her face changed, and he saw a look of intense pain pass over it. “I couldn’t bear that--you should think--I didn’t care. And--only I don’t want you to ask me why--I didn’t dare to offend Denver by letting him think I cared for you.”