'My bangle, please, Mr. Holcroft, and at once!' she said, imperatively, in dread of what more he might say. She held forth her hand, but the trinket either would not come off his wrist, or he pretended that such was the case. Olive tried to remove it, but in vain, and glanced round her, red with vexation. Her hand was gloved, otherwise she would have felt how unpleasantly cold and clammy were the fingers of her would-be lover. 'Allow me to retain it, even for a time--though would that I might wear it in my grave--for a time, in memory of the darling hopes I have dared to cherish,' he whispered, in a manner there could be no mistaking now. 'Spare me this melodramatic sort of thing, Mr. Holcroft,' said Olive, growing rather pale; 'I cannot--must not listen to you.' 'Why--what do you mean?' 'That there are obstacles between us, even were there not the want of liking,' she replied, decidedly, but with an agitated voice. 'Obstacles?' he repeated, inquiringly, sadly, and certainly with an air of _disappointment_; 'am I now to understand that you are engaged to the Master of Aberfeldie, as these absurd Scots people call him?' Olive bit her ruddy nether lip at this home question; but made no reply. 'What enigma is this? You either are or you are not. If not, why may not I----' 'I dare not listen to this style of conversation,' interrupted Olive, with positive annoyance; 'and you have no right to force it upon me.' 'After all that has passed?' said he, reproachfully, and rather feeling as if his hopes were melting into air. 'I do not understand you,' replied Olive, whose conscience certainly did reproach her. 'If I force this conversation--' he began in a bitter and rather upbraiding tone, then pausing; 'pardon me if I offend,' he resumed, with what seemed growing sadness, while attempting to touch her hand, yet withdrawing his own in apparent timidity. 'But am I wrong in deeming your engagement--or alleged engagement, as rumour says, made when you were a child--one in which your woman's heart and wishes have not been consulted? Tell me--for I may have to leave Dundargue soon now.' She was in some respects but a weak girl; he a crafty and wily man of the world; and, though he knew it not in the least, he was touching her on a very tender point--yet she replied, firmly enough, 'You have no right to question me; but say, what has Allan done to you that your face should darken at the mention of his name? Is he not your friend?' 'He was.' 'And now----' 'He is no longer so.' 'Why?' 'He is my rival.' She coloured to her temples at this blunt reply, and all it inferred. 'I loved you long before you ever cared for me,' he resumed, coolly. 'Sir--how dare you say I ever cared for you?' exclaimed Olive, her cheeks aflame now; 'let this subject cease, and be resumed no more!' 'It breaks my heart to hear you speak thus.'