"Of course, I shall work with all my power to get our engagement on a footing to please you, Yanna. But you know, a mother is a mother, and it is hard to go against her when she is working for the good of your sister, and your family, and all that; and----" "Our engagement! We are not engaged!" They were at the door by this time, and Yanna said: "Will you come in, Harry?" "Of course I will come in. What do you mean by saying, 'We are not engaged'? You said you loved me. You said you would marry me. Is not your promise an engagement?" "Only under certain conditions; which conditions you are not willing to fulfil." "Not able! not able! Yanna." "Nonsense! If you are man enough to ask a woman to be your wife, you ought to be man enough to do it with all customary honors. There is no use in further discussion, Harry. From the position I have taken, I cannot, in justice to myself, move a hair's breadth." "Is a man not to honor his mother, and help her, and so on?" "A man is to honor his mother with all his heart. He is to help her in every way he can; but he is also to honor the woman he asks to be his wife. It is a poor rose-tree that can only bear one perfect rose; it is a poor heart that has room only for one perfect love;--but I will not even seem to plead, for what ought to be rendered with the utmost spontaneity. We had better say '_Good-bye!_'" She rose with quiet dignity, and stood with an expectant air. Harry also rose, and began to button his gloves, and as he did so, said: "Surely, you will write to me! I do not hope for love letters, but just sometimes a few kind, wise words! You will write, Yanna?" "It would not be prudent. It would not be right." "Prudent! Right! Oh, Yanna! How provoking you can be!" "It would not be good form, then. Do you understand that better?" "You will do nothing for me?" She did not answer. She was very pale, her eyes were cast down, her mouth trembled, her hand clasped nervously the back of the chair by which she stood. She did not dare to look at Harry. He was so troubled, so reproachful, so handsome. "Will you at least shake hands, Yanna?" he asked, coming to her side. Then she looked into his face, and he held her a moment to his heart, as with kisses on her sweet, sad mouth, he murmured, "_Yanna! Yanna!_" ere he went hastily away. And as soon as he was gone, a quick realization of all she had lost, or resigned, reproached her. The most beautiful points in Harry's character came to the front--his love, his generous temper, his kindness to women, his cheerfulness, his physical beauty and grace, his fine manners! Oh, he had been in so many respects a most charming lover! No other could ever fill his place. Even his fault towards her had sprung from a virtue, and though in its development it showed him to be lacking in just perceptions and strength of character, were these indeed unpardonable faults?