He paused again, but she said nothing and he went on. "I ought to tell you about myself, so that you should know, because I'm really a very rotten type of person. I've never done anything yet, and I don't suppose I ever shall; I've been a failure at most things, and I'm stupid. I never read the right sort of books, or look at the right sort of pictures, or like the right sort of music, and even at the sort of things that most men are good at I'm nothing unusual. I can't write, you know, a bit, and in my letters I express myself like a boy of fifteen. And then I'm old--quite middle-aged--although I feel young enough. So that all these things are against me, and it's really a shame to ask you." He paused again, and then he said timidly, bending towards her-- "Could you ever, do you think, give me just a little hope--I wouldn't want you to right away at once--but, any time, after you'd thought about it?" She looked up at him and saw that he was shaking from head to foot. Her pride was nearly overcome and she wanted to fling herself at his feet, and kiss his hands, and never let him go, but she remembered that Pendragon had said that she was catching him for his money; so, by a great effort, she stayed where she was, and answered quietly, even coldly-- "I am more honoured, Mr. Trojan, than I can tell you by your asking me. It is much, very much more than I deserve, and, indeed, I'm not in the least worthy of it. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid it's no good. You see I'm such a stupid sort of girl--I muddle things so. It would never do for me to attempt to manage a big place like 'The Flutes'--and then I don't think I shall ever marry. I don't think I am that sort of girl. You have been an awfully good friend to me, and I'm more grateful to you than I can say. I can't tell you how much you have helped us all during these last weeks. But I'm afraid I must say no." The light from the window fell on her hair and the blue of her dress--a little gold pin at her throat flashed and sparkled; his eye caught it, and was fixed there. "No--don't say actually no." He was stammering. "Please--please. Think about it after I have gone away. I will come again another day when you have thought about it. I'm so stupid in saying things--I can't express myself; but, Miss Bethel--Mary--I love you--I love you. There isn't much to say about it--I can't express it any better--but, please--you mustn't say no like that. I would be as good a husband to you as I could, dear, always. I'm not the sort of fellow to change." "No"--she was speaking quickly as though she meant it to be final--"no, really, I mean it. I can't, I can't. You see one has to feel certain about it, hasn't one?--and I don't--not quite like that. But you are the very best friend that I have ever had; don't let it spoil that."