And so on, and so on. What need of more words? Before a year was out, Rose Salterne was far more in love with Don Guzman than he with her; and both suspected each other's mind, though neither hinted at the truth; she from fear, and he, to tell the truth, from sheer Spanish pride of blood. For he soon began to find out that he must compromise that blood by marrying the heretic burgher's daughter, or all his labor would be thrown away. He had seen with much astonishment, and then practised with much pleasure, that graceful old English fashion of saluting every lady on the cheek at meeting, which (like the old Dutch fashion of asking young ladies out to feasts without their mothers) used to give such cause of brutal calumny and scandal to the coarse minds of Romish visitors from the Continent; and he had seen, too, fuming with jealous rage, more than one Bideford burgher, redolent of onions, profane in that way the velvet cheek of Rose Salterne. So, one day, he offered his salute in like wise; but he did it when she was alone; for something within (perhaps a guilty conscience) whispered that it might be hardly politic to make the proffer in her father's presence: however, to his astonishment, he received a prompt though quiet rebuff. “No, sir; you should know that my cheek is not for you.” “Why,” said he, stifling his anger, “it seems free enough to every counter-jumper in the town!” Was it love, or simple innocence, which made her answer apologetically? “True, Don Guzman; but they are my equals.” “And I?” “You are a nobleman, sir; and should recollect that you are one.” “Well,” said he, forcing a sneer, “it is a strange taste to prefer the shopkeeper!” “Prefer?” said she, forcing a laugh in her turn; “it is a mere form among us. They are nothing to me, I can tell you.” “And I, then, less than nothing?” Rose turned very red; but she had nerve to answer-- “And why should you be anything to me? You have condescended too much, sir, already to us, in giving us many a--many a pleasant evening. You must condescend no further. You wrong yourself, sir, and me too. No, sir; not a step nearer!--I will not! A salute between equals means nothing: but between you and me--I vow, sir, if you do not leave me this moment, I will complain to my father.” “Do so, madam! I care as little for your father's anger, as you for my misery.” “Cruel!” cried Rose, trembling from head to foot.