"All sorts of things. He's a man, and you are beautiful. And I have heard him say a thousand times that so-called Platonics are possible for one of the two, but never for both. Doesn't this explain the many cases of unrequited love? You are vexed, I can see it. But I am not thinking of you. I am thinking of Robert." "He is not so sentimental as you imagine." "Isn't he? This affair with Mrs. Parflete was pure sentimentality from beginning to end--a poet's love. He would have another feeling for you--something much stronger. You are so human, Sara. I would far sooner kill you than write poetry to you. You are life--not literature. That little thing with shining hair and a porcelain face is for dreams. Of course, he will always love her--after a fashion. He might even compare you with her and find her your superior in every way--except as a woman. We may be at moments poets, at moments saints, but the greater part of the time, a man is a man. And you are no friend for a man. Pensée Fitz Rewes might answer well enough; she has had sorrow, she has two children, she has a gentle, maternal air. But you----" He threw back his head and laughed without mirth. "You!" he repeated. "My God!" "You are talking very foolishly, Beauclerk. Perhaps it is your odd way of making yourself agreeable. It doesn't please me a bit to be told that I am a siren. My mind is full of the Bond of Association and your Meeting at St. James's Hall. How shamefully Lord Cavernake has behaved, but dear Lord Gretingham has come out well. What a miserable set we have in the Lords just now!" She was making these remarks as the clock struck the hour, and her father entered the room. "Beauclerk came early, dear papa," said she, "because he had something to tell us. His engagement is broken off." Lord Garrow looked the grief appropriate to the news, and disguised, as well as he could, his dismay at its probable development. He murmured, "Tut! tut!" a number of times, held up his hands, and nodded his head from side to side. "I wish nothing said against poor Agnes," observed Reckage; "her mistakes are those of a generous, impetuous girl. Don't judge her hastily. All, I feel certain, has happened for the best." "Tut! tut!" repeated his lordship. "I am devoted to dear Agnes," said Sara, "but I never, never thought that she was the wife for Beauclerk."