"Then, I suppose, I have grown stupid; I have not enough to occupy me, for one thing. If I could carry out all my whims I could be busy enough; but I have had to abandon that scheme for rebuilding a good many of my cottages from want of money, and that same want stands between me and my one ambition: a seat in Parliament. I might have had a chance of a vacancy in the autumn. By the way, as you intend to throw me over, I trust that amongst your numerous friends you will find me another tenant for the Court." "I don't understand what you are talking of! Who is going to throw you over?" "Your mother has written to say that she wishes to leave at Michaelmas. Her letter was my excuse for calling." May did not answer for a minute; she was busily pondering what her mother's reason could have been for arriving at this decision without consulting her. It might be that the relations between themselves and the Blands being somewhat strained, she had thought it wise to go somewhere else, or--and here May's heart quickened its beating--it might be that she feared a rival in Paul Lessing. "I hope you are sorry to lose us," she said. "Am I to tell the conventional falsehood or the truth?" Paul asked. "The truth, of course; we have not studied conventionality much, have we?" "Then I am unfeignedly glad," said Paul, deliberately. May had turned rather white. "You don't mince matters certainly." "No, I don't; but I prefer solitude to living perpetually within sight of unattainable happiness. Our friendship is destroyed, you remember; you admitted as much once. I cannot pretend that you are an ordinary acquaintance, and, therefore, to have you taken out of my reach is really the best thing that could happen to me." "And you have left any wish I might have about it outside your calculation," said May. "It cannot signify to you where you live. You will amuse yourself wherever you are." "It signifies considerably; as I like Rudham, at present, better than any place in the world." Paul broke into an incredulous laugh. "I suppose it would be an impertinence to ask your reason for this unaccountable preference?" "It is a simple one: you live there," said May, with averted face. Paul sprang to his feet and stood before May with arms folded, and looked down at her with eyes that literally burned. "May!" he said hoarsely, "if it is a joke it is a cruel one." "Oh, it's true that you have grown stupid!" cried May, between laughter and tears. "It is no joke to have to tell you that I have changed my mind. I love you better than all the world besides." With an incoherent cry Paul clasped her to his breast. "My darling! my darling!" he said, after the rapture of that first moment, "I am not worthy, and the sacrifice on your side is too great. I had no right ever to ask you to marry me. What will the world say of me? I could wish that you had no fortune----"