The expression in Captain Bertram's dark eyes joined to the thought which had flown into her heart, made the young girl flush up almost painfully. This sudden blush caused the gallant wooer's heart to beat with rapture, and he instantly changed his tactics and resolved, instead of giving Beatrice a half confidence with regard to his troubles, to take the apparently unapproachable fortress by storm. "I had a long story to tell you, but I find I can't tell it," he said. Then he looked at her again, as he knew how momentous were the words which must follow, he turned pale. "Sit down," said Beatrice. "Come over to the window and sit down. We have such a pretty view of the garden from here. Mother and I are very proud of our garden." "Are you? Miss Meadowsweet, I want to say something. Look at me, will you look at me?" "Of course I will. I expected you to say something when you called this morning. You had some sort of trouble you wanted to confide in me. What is the matter?" "I don't feel now as if I had any trouble to confide in you. I can only say one thing." Beatrice began to wish that her mother had not left the drawing-room. She moved forward as if to step through the open French window. "And I must tell you this thing," pursued the captain's voice. Its tone arrested her. "But I am mad to say it." "Don't say it then," she began. "I can't help myself. You must listen. I love you better than all the world. I won't marry any one but you. I will marry you, I am determined." "You are determined," repeated Beatrice, slowly. "_You_--determined--and about me? I am obliged." Her lips took a scornful curl. She sat down. She was quiet enough now; the worst was over. Beatrice, however, was only a country girl, and she had very little idea with whom she had to deal. No one could plead better his cause than Loftus Bertram. Defeat here meant the ruin of his worldly prospects as well as of his love. He was the kind of man with whom the present must always be paramount; for the time being he had absolutely forgotten Josephine Hart, for the time being he thought himself honestly, deeply in love with Beatrice. So he talked and talked, until poor Beatrice felt both her head and heart aching. "I am not in your rank of life," she said at last, as her final thrust. "My set is not the same as yours; my people can never belong to yours--my dear old mother is a lady at heart, but she has not the outward polish of your mother. You want me to be your wife now, but by-and-bye you will remember the gulf which socially lies between us." "How can you talk such nonsense? You are one of nature's ladies. Ask my mother what she thinks of you. Ask Catherine. Don't you think Catherine would be happy to put her arms round you and call you sister?" When Bertram mentioned Catherine a sweet light came for the first time into Beatrice's eyes. "I love your sister Catherine," she said. "You will love me too. You will make me the happiest of men."