Mr. Towle regarded her in puzzled silence. "I beg your pardon," he said stiffly. "You were referring to what passed between us last night? I have already told your--ah--guardians the result of my proposals, and they----" "Oh, I didn't mean that!" cried Jane. "How could you think so? I meant-- Oh, _won't_ you go away and not talk to me any more about it! You oughtn't to have liked me anyway. Aunt Agatha said so. She told me this morning that I was not at all attractive, and I am poor, too--perhaps you didn't know that--and--and--I am not at all clever; you can't help seeing that for yourself. I hope you will forget that you ever saw me those three times at Uncle Robert's." "One time would have been enough for me," said Mr. Towle earnestly; "but as a matter of fact I have seen you more than three times. I never counted the occasions, but I saw you as often as possible, as for example when you went out with the two little boys in the governess cart, and when you walked with them in the Park, and twice in the Museum. Do you remember the day you showed them the mummies? You were telling them a long story about a little Egyptian princess; then you showed them the toys found in her tomb, and the mummy itself wrapped in browned linen, a withered lotus flower stuck in the bandages." Jane stared at him meditatively. "I didn't see you anywhere about," she said. "No; I took good care that you should not," Mr. Towle observed. "Now I am sorry for it." "Why?" asked Jane; then bit her tongue again in her confusion. "I--I mean it would have been very--nice. I should have said I----" "I was a bally idiot," pursued Mr. Towle steadily, "not to have taken the pains to become acquainted with you in any way, however unconventional. If I had, perhaps you would not have disliked me so." "Oh, but I do not dislike you in the least!" protested Jane. "If you could like me a very little," he said eagerly, "perhaps in time you could--Jane, if you are fond of travel I would take you all over the world. You should see everything. I thought I was done with happiness till I saw you. I had nothing to look forward to. I had seen everything, tested everything, and found everything empty and hateful, but with _you_ at my side-- Won't you try to like me, Jane?" What Jane would have replied, had she not glanced up on the instant, she never afterwards felt entirely sure. But glance up she did to meet Gwendolen's scornful eyes fixed full upon her as she whirled past them in the Aubrey-Blythe victoria, with a great show of Aubrey-Blythe liveries on the box. Instantly the forlorn little shoot of gratitude which was trying its feeble best to masquerade as sentiment in Jane's lonely heart withered and died under the icy blast of impotent anger and fear which passed over her. "She will tell Aunt Agatha," thought poor Jane, "and Aunt Agatha will think I have lied to her about seeing Mr. Towle on the street."