As he used the words, he was not looking at her. He had a vague perception in the midst of them that he was trying to thrust his emotions away from both her and himself, and to bury them out of sight. He hated himself for speaking the words at all. They were part of that wretched mistake of his life, which he began to feel would hold him tightly in spite of his efforts. He hated himself for doing her this wrong. He could not look at her. He felt that burden of humiliation and vexed anger which will make even a generous man indignant with the woman who has caused it, although innocently. There was a blank silence which lasted some minutes, while he was even more taken up with what he had said than with what it was possible she might say, and yet when her answer came at last, it startled him. "Are you engaged to Miss Chester?" she said coldly. "Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, stung to the quick, and facing her angrily. "Am I engaged? Do you know what you are saying?--do you suppose that I have been acting a lie all this time?--" The hot words died suddenly on his tongue. Had he not been acting a lie to her and to himself together? The blood rushed into his face, but his words all came to an end. Ada, however, who had been impressed with the passion in his voice, began to recover from the anger which had been the first weapon her wounded vanity had caught up in self-defence. It was so impossible for the serene self-satisfaction of her nature to conceive a preference on his part for another woman, that her mind immediately began to cast about for some ether reasons for his words. Mr Bennett had often said that Anthony was morbid. She had not troubled her head about it, but the expression came to her now with relief. He had walked away a few steps, and stood moodily looking into a boat, with his shoulders a little raised, and his hands thrust into his pockets. Ada followed him and touched his arm. "Dear Anthony," she said softly, "why should you be angry with me? After what you said, I thought you really must have some object in saying it. Had you? Do you wish not to marry me?" "I wish you not to marry me without knowing the truth," he said, feeling as if circumstances were against him, and as if common humanity demanded some touch of tenderness on his part towards her. "I told you that I was conscious of having behaved very ill, but you know all now, Ada."