She was pondering, one morning, with some rueful apprehensiveness, this possibility of her having gone too far, when her heart was reassured by the sound of a footstep that was familiar to her, coming up the gravel outside. Then she smiled to herself, with a little composed preening of neck-ribbons; for, after all, the incense of courtship was grateful to her nostrils--and her brother was not at home. He--that same suitor--came in like a man set on a serious purpose; and secretly her heart moved with admiration of, but no submission to, his masterfulness. He walked straight up to her, to where she had risen from her seat by the fire, and answered her graceful greeting with little more than a bow. “Madam,” he said, “I must crave your permission to speak, though I may imperil my prospects through precipitancy.” She smiled, her pulses drumming thickly. “A formidable overture,” she said--and for the life of her could get no further. “I do not wish it to be,” said the gentleman. “If any misconception of my position makes me appear to assume a manner of truculency, I do myself an injustice, believe me.” Her lips moved, but no word came from them. “I am aware,” he went on, “that the apparent invidiousness of my position amongst you here may stand, and rightly, as an insuperable barrier to any addresses I may presume to submit to your consideration.” Her lips opened again; but she only inclined her head. “It is so, then?” he answered to the gesture; “and it only remains for me to express my most earnest regret at having failed hitherto to realize the true conditions of a suit, which I now need not hesitate to affirm I once dared to hope a prosperous termination to; and to gratefully thank you for permitting me to justify my dismissal in your eyes, without putting you to the awkwardness of an explanation. Madam, I am your humble, obedient servant.” He bowed low. Positively, the man seemed on the point of withdrawing--and with a doubtful air of relief, too. Miss Royston found her voice suddenly. “Stay, Mr. Tuke!--Oh, sir! your hurried assumption seems to put me in the worst light of churlishness.” “Surely, surely,” said he, reluctantly, “I never suggested such a thing?” “Indirectly, indeed, you do. You hastily cancel an--an invitation, while I am yet making up my mind as to the form of answer.” “Ah, madam! I see. You would claim the privilege of rejection.” “That is unkind.” “No, no. You are entitled to it. I was wrong to overlook the fact that the point of view of the world must be considered.” She flushed up angrily. “I thank you, sir. You mean, of course, that I wish to secure myself from the imputation that I angled for what was cunning to elude me? I stand high in your opinion, indeed. But you force me to the avowal that I am under no necessity to deprecate the criticisms of my neighbours.”