The little group was broken up by Cecilia’s return; Crauford went forward to meet her, and pompously relieved her of the two garden baskets she carried. This act of politeness was tinged with distress at the sight of the future Lady Fordyce burdened with such things. ‘Let us go to the house,’ exclaimed Lady Eliza, rising from her bench. If something were not done to facilitate Crauford’s proposal she would never be rid of him, never at leisure to reason with her aching heart in solitude. When would the afternoon end? She even longed for Fullarton to go. What he had said to her was no new thing; she had known it all, all before. But the words had fallen like blows, and, like an animal hurt, she longed to slink away and hide her pain. ‘Put the baskets in the tool-house, Cecilia. Fullarton, come away; we will go in.’ The tool-house stood at the further end of the garden, outside the ivy-covered wall, and Crauford was glad of the chance given him of accompanying Cecilia, though he felt the difficulty of approaching affairs of the heart with a garden basket in either hand. He walked humbly beside her. She put the baskets away and turned the key on them. ‘May I ask for a few minutes, Miss Raeburn?’ he began. ‘I have come here for a serious purpose. My uncle is the bearer of a letter to her ladyship. It is from my mother, and is written in corroboration of one which I lately received from my father. I had written to ask their approval of a step--a very important step--which I contemplate. Miss Raeburn--or may I say Cecilia?--it concerns yourself.’ ‘Really, sir?’ said Cecilia, the cheerfulness of despair in her voice. ‘Yes, yourself. No young lady I have ever seen has so roused my admiration--my affection, I may say. I have made up my mind on that subject. Do not turn away, Miss Raeburn; it is quite true, believe me. My happiness is involved. To-morrow I shall hope to inform my parents that you will be my wife.’ He stopped in the path and would have taken her hand. She stepped back. ‘I cannot,’ she said. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot.’ ‘You cannot!’ he exclaimed. ‘Why?’ ‘It is impossible, sir, really.’ ‘But you have Lady Eliza’s permission. She told me so herself. This is absurd, Miss Raeburn, and you are distressing me infinitely.’ ‘Please put it out of your head, Mr. Fordyce. I cannot do it; there is no use in thinking of it. I do not want to hurt you, but it is quite impossible--quite.’ ‘But why--why?’ he exclaimed. He looked bewildered. Cecilia’s brows drew together imperceptibly. ‘I do not care for you,’ she said; ‘you force me to speak in this way. I do not love you in the least.’ ‘But what is there that you object to in me?’ he cried. ‘Surely you understand that my father, in consenting, is ready to establish me very well. I am the eldest son, Miss Raeburn.’ Cecilia’s pale face was set, and her chin rose a little higher at each word.