He had not expected this reply; if she had shrank from the familiarity and refused her permission, he would have been better pleased. Helpless, paralytic, dreadful to behold, he would fain have considered himself a danger to her peace of mind still. “I have to accept that,” he said, “like all the rest. That it doesn’t matter what I say, no man could be jealous of me. Evelyn!--I like to say the name--there’s everything that’s sweet and womanly in it. I wish I had called my little girl by that name. I thought of it, to tell the truth.” “Nothing could have been more unsuitable,” cried Evelyn, with a flush of anger. “I hope you did not think of it, for that would have been an insult, not a compliment to me. Mr. Saumarez, I think I must go on. Madeline expected me at----” “Oh, let Madeline wait a little! She has plenty of interests, and I have something very serious to say. You may think I am trying to lead you into recollections--which certainly would agitate me, if not you. You are very composed, Evelyn. I ought to be glad to see you so, but I don’t know that I am. I remember everything so well--but you--seem to have passed into another world.” “It is true. The world is entirely changed for me. I can scarcely believe that it was I who lived through so many experiences twenty-two years ago.” “I feel that there is a reproach in that--and yet if I could tell you everything--but you would not listen to me now.” “I am no longer interested,” she said gently, “so many things have happened since then: my father’s death, and Harry’s. How thankful I was to be able to care for them both! All these things are between me and my girlhood. It has died out of my mind. If there is anything you want to say to me, Mr. Saumarez, I hope it is on another subject than that.” The attempt in his eyes to convey a look of sentiment made her feel faint. But fortunately his faculties were keen enough to show him the futility of that attempt. “Yes,” he said, “it is another subject--a very different subject. I shall not live long, and I have no friends. I care for nobody, and you will say it is a natural consequence of this that nobody cares for me.” She made a movement of dissent in her great pity. “It cannot be so bad as that.” “But it _is_. My sister’s dead, you know, and there is really nobody. Evelyn, I have a great favour to ask you. Will you be the guardian of my boy and girl?” “The guardian--of your children!” She was so startled and astonished that she could only gaze at him, and could not find another word to say.