"Perhaps," he said slowly, "it's my age. You don't feel that you could with a man old enough to be your father. But I'm young--younger than Robin. But I won't bother you about it. Of course, if you are certain----" He rose and stumbled a moment over the chair as he passed to the door. "Oh! I'm so sorry!" she cried. "I----" and then she had to turn to hide her face. In her heart there was a struggle such as she had never faced before. Her love called her a fool and told her that she was flinging her life away--that the ship of her good fortune was sailing from her, and it would be soon beyond the horizon; but her pride reminded her of what they had said--that she had laid traps for him, for his money. "I am sorry," she said again. "But it must be only friendship." But she had forgotten that although her back was turned he was towards the mirror. He could see her--her white face and quivering lips. He sprang towards her. "Mary, try me. I will love you better than any man in God's world, always. I will live for you, and work for you, and die for you." It was more than she could bear. She could not reason now. She was only resolved that she would not give way, and she pushed past him blindly, her head hanging. The drawing-room door closed. He stared dully in front of him. Then he picked up his hat and left the house. She had flung herself on her bed and lay there motionless. She heard the door close, his steps on the stairs, and then the outer door. She sprang to the window, and then, moved by some blind impulse, rushed to the head of the stairs. There were steps, and Mrs. Bethel's voice penetrated the gloom. "Mary, Mary, where are you?" She crept back to her room.