“I know I have not been very complimentary thus far, and I dare say no man has ever talked to you as I am talking in order to show you that I know you thoroughly, and that with all your faults I love you, and have since the night you came and I carried you in my arms through the rain. Something then in the touch of your hands as I put you down gave me an inkling of your responsive nature and I have watched you closely since; have seen every little coquettish air and grace, and known, when you dazzled me with your smile and eyes, that it meant nothing except as a pastime for you; and yet, I have gone on loving you and sworn to win you. Nor am I without hope. You have given me every reason to think I was not indifferent to you and that is why I am telling you of my love and I warn you not to trifle with me. Uncle Zacheus does not believe in heredity, but I know there is enough of my great-grandmother’s nature in me to send me to the devil, or make me one, if circumstances were favorable. If the woman I loved and who I had reason to believe loved me thwarted and scorned me, I should not murder her, but there is in me a fire which would burn out all the good and deliver me over to the evil one.” His voice was almost a whisper as he poured out the full measure of his love, while Helen sat still, knowing that his arm was drawing her to him and that his face was close to hers. He made no allusion to the difference in their positions. He put himself on an equality with herself and she respected him for it and knew that she loved him if it were possible for her to love any one. She had no intention to be false to Craig, on whose letter she still kept her hand, meaning to bring it out and show it at the last. She told herself that she had expected something like this and knew that she was very happy and wished it might go on forever. Mark was waiting for her to speak, and she must bring out the letter. She did not dare let go her hold on it, for it seemed to her as if she were holding on to Craig as long as she felt the touch of the paper he had handled. Tears, which came to her so easily, were pouring down her cheeks. She must wipe them away; as Mark had taken one of her hands she had no alternative but to withdraw the other from her pocket and in so doing lost her grip in more ways than one. “You do love me a little?” Mark pleaded and lifting her tear drenched face to his she answered, “Yes, a little. I can’t help it, but—” She did not finish the sentence for the kisses pressed upon her lips brought her to her senses. “Mark! Mr. Hilton! How dare you take such a liberty. No man has ever kissed me since my father died,—not even Mr. Mason, and I am engaged to him! It happened yesterday, when we were driving. This letter is from him.” She took it from her pocket as she sprang to her feet and held it as a barrier between herself and Mark, who had also risen and whose face was white as the moonlight falling over it.