"My daughter is a poor girl; I am a poor man, and have been so all my life. There is no great misfortune in this; as much happiness is to be found in the ranks of the poor as in the ranks of the rich. When, some short time since, it first came to my knowledge that my daughter entertained an affection for you, there was but one course open to me--to effect a separation between you, in the hope that time and distance might work a healthful cure, and cause her to forget you." "But why, sir?" asked Kingsley, with smiling eyes. "You ask why? Surely you can yourself supply the answer. There is between you a disparity which renders it impossible that any good can spring from such an affection." "No, no, sir; not impossible. Pardon me for interrupting you." "I, as a matter of course, can form some reasonable conception of the future that lies before my child. She is poor; she will live among the poor; it is her lot, and not a hard one. It is only temptation, it is only a longing for what is out of her reach, that is likely to spoil her life, as it has spoiled the lives of many who have not had the strength to resist. Will you help to spoil the life of a child who is very dear to me?" "No," said Kingsley, fervently, "as Heaven is my judge, no!" "Mr. Manners," said Mr. Loveday, holding out his hand to the young man, "you said a moment or two since that I was doing you an injustice, and that I should be compelled to acknowledge it. I acknowledge it now, and I ask your pardon. You have been simply thoughtless. The time may come when, with children of your own to protect, you will look back to this meeting with satisfaction." "I shall always do that, sir. And now, sir, as we are on better terms, I may ask what it is you expect of me." "That you never see my daughter more; that you give me your promise not to intrude yourself upon her, nor write to her, and in that way help her in the task that lies before her, the task of forgetfulness." "A hard task, sir." "It may be, and all the sweeter when it is accomplished, because of the dangers from which its performance saves her. You promise me this?" "A moment, sir. If your daughter and I had been equal in station--which we are not; she is far above me." Being more at his ease, he relapsed now into his old manner of discursiveness. "If you knew me better you would excuse me for flying off at a tangent. It is a butterfly habit of mine, though I hope there is something of the grub in me! It may be needed by and by. If, as I was about to say, your daughter and I were equal in worldly station, both being equally poor or equally rich, and I asked you for her hand, would you refuse it to me?" "I think not," replied Mr. Loveday. "But knowing so little of you it would be necessary that I should know more, that I should be to some extent satisfied as to your past life." "And your inquiries in that respect being satisfactory," interrupted Kingsley, "you would not refuse?"