Mildred had acquired the habit of receiving Melcomb's compliments in silence. She said nothing. "It is true no service could make any man worthy of Miss Pendarrel," the suitor continued; "yet I have been led to hope, unworthy as I am, that mine might not be doomed to be endless. Is it not so, dear Miss Pendarrel?" "You have been led to hope nothing by me, Mr. Melcomb," Mildred answered, agitated by the unusual embarrassment in his manner. "Nay," urged the coxcomb, "may I not hope from the position which Miss Pendarrel has permitted me to assume...." "You have had no permission from me, Mr. Melcomb," said Mildred, interrupting him. She had well prepared herself for the scene, and preserved her spirit, though very much distressed. "Surely," he continued, "I am not presumptuous in considering it implied." Mildred was silent. Hers was no case for argument. "Not presumptuous," Melcomb went on, speaking more rapidly, "in aspiring to the happiness which that permission seemed to promise. Not presumptuous in imploring dear Miss Pendarrel to appoint the time, when anxiety and fidelity may be rewarded with joy, and I may become the most fortunate of men." "Mr. Melcomb," Mildred said, rising from her chair, and trembling, "I am above pretending to misunderstand you. Have you my mother's ... Does she...." "It is by Mrs. Pendarrel's leave that I venture," said the coxcomb in his softest manner. "And an early day, dearest Mildred,----" He made a step as if to take her hand, but she recoiled, and said, in a tone of determination, which Melcomb probably never forgot, "The day will never come." She turned towards the door, but stopped as though she wished to say something more. Melcomb had anticipated a refusal, but not one so decisive. "Miss Pendarrel will pardon my expressing surprise...." he began to say. Mildred hastily interrupted him, with faltering words. "Sir, sir, perhaps it is I should ask your pardon--but you have never--it is the first time--I have had no opportunity--in pity to me, sir, urge these addresses no farther." She could no longer restrain her tears, and quitted the room, Melcomb making no attempt to detain her. He was neither surprised, nor mortified, nor even discomposed. It was a check by discovery, long expected and prepared for, by no means check-mate. And he had not lost his queen. The game was by no means desperate. But he wished for time to consider his next move, and left the house without seeing Mrs. Pendarrel. That lady immediately conjectured what had occurred, and only feared that Mildred might have affronted her suitor to such a degree as to make him abandon his intentions. He had not been very long gone before she sought an explanation from her daughter. "Mildred, my dear child," she said, "what is the meaning of this? How happens it, that the politest of mankind leaves my house without kissing my hand?"