“Why, my dear,” I said very patiently as I thought, as one would speak to a child, “I am asking you if you will be my wife.”

I turned away from the fire altogether, and faced her, thinking I should have her in my arms.  But at first she said nothing at all, but sat immovable, scrutinizing me, I thought, as if to read all that was in my head and heart.  But it was all new to me, for what did I know of love except that it was very strange and sweet?  So I waited for her answer.  That answer came.

“Cousin Roger,” she said in a very low voice, “I am very sorry you have spoken as you have—­”

I straightened myself suddenly and looked at her more closely.  She had not moved at all, except her face.  A kind of roaring murmur began to fill my ears.

“Because,” said she—­and every word of hers now was pain to me—­“because there is but one answer that I can give, which is No.”

“Why—­” cried I.

“You have spoken very kindly and generously.  But—­” and at this her voice began to ring a little—­“but I am not what you think me—­a maid to be flung at the head of any man who will choose to take her.”

“Cousin!” cried I; and then she was on her feet too, her face all ablaze.

“Yes, Cousin!” cried she; “and never any more than that.  You have acted very well, Cousin Roger; and I thank you for that compliment—­that you thought it worth while to play the part—­and for your great kindness to a poor country maid.  I had thought it to be all over long ago—­before you went away; or I would not have behaved as I have.  But since you have considered it again carefully, and chosen to—­to insult me after all; I have no answer at all to give, except No, a thousand times over.”

“Why, Cousin—­” I began again.

She stamped her foot.  I could not have imagined she could be so angry.

“Wait till I have done,” she said—­“I do not know what my father thinks of me; but I suppose that you and he have designed all this; and led me on to make a fool of myself—­Oh!  Let me go! let me go!”

Oh! the triple fool that I was!  Yet who had ever taught me the ways of love, or what women mean, or what their hearts are like?  If I had been one half the man that I thought myself, I would have seized her there, and forced back her foolishness with kisses, and vowed that, conspirator or not, she must have me; that we knew one another too well to play false coin like this.  Or I should have blazed at her in return; and told her that she lied in thinking I was as base as that.  Why, I should have just borne myself like a lover to whom love is all, and dignity and wounded pride nothing; for what else is there but love, sacred or profane, in the whole world that God has made?  If I had done that!  If only I had done that then!  But I suppose that I was no lover then.

So I drew back, smarting and wounded; and let her go by; and a minute later I heard the door of her chamber slam behind her, and the key turn.