"The fact being," said Elizabeth, "that your pride is so much stronger than your love, that you would never tell a woman you loved her if she happened to have a few pounds more than you." "Exactly so," he answered, stubbornly. "Then--as a matter of argument only, Percival--I think you are wrong." "Wrong, am I? Do you think that a man likes to take gifts from his wife's hands? Do you think it is pleasant for me to hear you offer compensation to my father for the trifle that he has spent on you during the last few years, and not to be in a position to render such an offering unnecessary? I tell you it is the most galling thing in the world, and, if for one moment you thought me capable of speaking to you as I did the other night, now that I know you to be a wealthy woman, I could never look you in the face again. If I seem angry you must try to forgive me; you know me of old--I am always detestable when I am in pain--as I am now." He struck his foot angrily against the fender; his handsome face was drawn and lined with the pain of which he spoke. "Be patient, Percival," she said, with a smile which seemed to mock him by its very sweetness. "As you say to me, you may think differently in time." "And what if I do think differently? What good will it be?" he asked her. "I am not patient; I am not resigned to my fate, and I never shall be; does it make the loss of my hopes any easier to bear when you tell me that I shall think differently in time? You might as well try to make a man with a broken leg forget his pain by telling him that in a hundred years' time he will be dead and buried!" The tears stood in her eyes. She seemed startled by the intense energy with which he spoke; her next words scarcely rose above a whisper. "Percival," she said, "I don't like to see you suffer." "Then I will leave you," he said, sternly. "For, if I stay, I can't pretend that I do not feel the pain of losing you." He turned away, but before he had gone two steps a hand was placed upon his arm. "I can't let you go in this way," she said. "Oh, Percival, you have always been good to me till now. I can't begin a new life by giving you pain. Don't you understand what I want to say?" He put his hand on her shoulder and looked into her face. The deep colour flushed his own, but hers was white as snow, and she was trembling like a leaf. "Do you love me, Elizabeth?" he said. "I don't know," she answered, simply, "but I will marry you, Percival, if you like." "That is not enough. Do you love me?" "Too well," she answered, "to let you go." And so he stayed. CHAPTER XIII. SAN STEFANO.