I wondered a little what manner of man old Patton could be that he should like my guardian, but I said nothing. "Mr. Patton has a daughter--a very presentable sort of girl, and, of course, a lady," went on Fanshawe; and for some unaccountable reason I found my fingers fumbling and trembling over the tying of my white tie. "Save for him, she is alone in the world, and must, of course, be provided for. Do you follow me?" I followed him so well that the tie I was fumbling at had become a mere piece of crumpled rag; I tore it from my neck, and took another. "So that I have decided to marry the girl, and in that way consolidate my position--and hers. It is, of course, not public in any way yet, and I do not wish you to say anything about it." He paused, and in the silence of the room I could hear his hands rubbing together over each other. "Well--why don't you speak?" he demanded at last. I could not trust myself to look round; I spoke with my back to him. "And what about the young lady?" I managed to ask. "What does she say?" "I don't understand," he responded blankly. "She hasn't said anything yet; she hasn't been asked. It isn't exactly a question for her." I threw up my head, and I laughed loud and long. The thing was so absurd, from my point of view, and I was so sure of her, that I almost seemed to see Jervis Fanshawe standing before her, and asking his question; seemed to hear her laugh with me at the absurdity of it. What did this man know of love or a girlish heart? He got up abruptly, and came and stood beside me; as I still laughed, he rapped sharply with his knuckles on the dressing-table, as though to call me to order. In that moment reserve was thrown aside, and the man blurted out what was in his mind. "What were you doing in the wood to-day with her?" he asked, with his face so close to mine that I could feel his hot breath on my cheek. I faced round at him squarely. "Why were you spying on me?" I demanded hotly; and at the look in his eyes I shrank back from him, a little afraid. For I had never seen on any face such a look of mingled fear and hopelessness, and longing and misery, as I saw in his face then. "Why was I spying on you? Why do I spy on every one? Why do I feel, when I am near that child, like a weak and impotent child myself? I could crush the life out of her with that hand"--he shook it fiercely in the air before me as he spoke--"and yet she could make me do murder, with a word or a look. I want her--and I mean to have her; there's a passion in me that a boy such as you can't understand. Besides," he went on more calmly, "there are other reasons--reasons you know nothing about. I've gone too far to draw back--and yet I'm afraid to go on. Charlie"--he laid his hand on my arm, and I felt it shake--"you've got to help me somehow; we've got to get through this thing together. Unless I marry this girl--(and God knows I'd treat her well)--it means red ruin for me--and perhaps worse."