“Olivia,” he continued, “that is part of what Martin says.  We have just been speaking of you as we came down to Fulham—­never before.  He maintains he is bound in honor to leave you as free as possible to make your choice, not merely between us, but from the number of fellows who have found their way down here, since you came.  You made one fatal mistake, he says, through your complete ignorance of the world; and it is his duty to take care that you do not make a second mistake, through any gratitude you might feel toward him.  He would not be satisfied with gratitude.  Besides, he has discovered that he is not so great a prize as he fancied, as long as he lived in Guernsey; and you are a richer prize than you seemed to be then.  With your fortune you ought to make a much better match than with a young physician, who has to push his way among a host of competitors.  Lastly, Martin said, for I’m merely repeating his own arguments to you:  ’Do you think I can put her happiness and mine into a balance, and coolly calculate which has the greater weight?  If I had to choose for her, I should not hesitate between you and me.’  Now I have told you the sum of our conversation, Olivia.”

Every word Dr. John had spoken had thrown clearer light upon Martin’s conduct.  He had been afraid I should feel myself bound to him; and the very fact that he had once told me he loved me, had made it more difficult to him to say so a second time.  He would not have any love from me as a duty.  If I did not love him fully, with my whole heart, choosing him after knowing others with whom I could compare him, he would not receive any lesser gift from me.

“What will you do, my dear Olivia?” asked Dr. John.

“What can I do?” I said.

“Go to him,” he urged; “he is alone.  I saw him a moment ago, looking out at us from the drawing-room window.  The old fellow is making up his mind to see you and me happy together, and to conceal his own sorrow.  God bless him!  Olivia, my dear girl, go to him.”

“O Jack!” I cried, “I cannot.”

“I don’t see why you cannot,” he answered, gayly.  “You are trembling, and your face goes from white to red, and then white again; but you have not lost the use of your limbs, or your tongue.  If you take my arm, it will not be very difficult to cross the lawn.  Come; he is the best fellow living, and worth walking a dozen yards for.”

Jack drew my hand through his arm, and led me across the smooth lawn.  We caught a glimpse of Martin looking out at us; but he turned away in an instant, and I could not see the expression of his face.  Would he think we were coming to tell him that he had wasted all his love upon a girl not worthy of a tenth part of it?

The glass doors, which opened upon the lawn, had been thrown back all day, and we could see distinctly into the room.  Martin was standing at the other end of it, apparently absorbed in examining a painting, which he must have seen a thousand times.  The doors creaked a little as I passed through them, but he did not turn round.  Jack gave my hand a parting squeeze, and left me there in the open doorway, scarcely knowing whether to go on, and speak to Martin, or run away to my room, and leave him to take his own time.