As I sat in the drawing-room there was a rose still whole in my lap.  I had begun to pluck off the petals, when the door-bell rang.  Though I heard the voice distinctly when the door was opened, I vow to you, dear Nell, that my chief desire was to get the rose pulled to pieces before I was disturbed.  I had flung the last petal into my lap, when the door opened and Mr. Manners came into the room.

He did not speak; he opened his arms, and I ran straight into them, roses and all.  The petals rained over us and over the floor.  He talked very fast, and I did nothing but cling to him, and endure in silence the weight which his presence could not remove from my mind, while he pleaded passionately for our marriage.  He said that it was the extreme of all that was unreasonable, that our lives’ happiness should be sacrificed to the insane freak of a hardly responsible mind.  He complained bitterly (though I could but confess justly!) of the insulting and intolerable treatment that he had received.  He had come, he said, in the first place, to assure himself of my constancy—­in the second, for a powerful and final remonstrance with my brother—­and, if that failed, to remind me that I should be of age next month; and to convey the entreaty of the Tophams that, as a last resource, I would come to them and be married from their house.  I made up my mind, and promised:  then I implored him to be careful in his interview with my brother, for my sake—­to calm his own natural anger, and to remember Edmund’s infirmity.  He promised, but I saw that he was slightly piqued by my dwelling so much on Edmund’s feelings rather than on his.  Ah!  Nelly, he had never seen one of the poor boy’s rages.

It may have been half-past six when Mr. Manners arrived; it had just struck a quarter to nine when Edmund came in and found us together.  He paused for a minute, clicking his tongue in his mouth, in a way he had when excited; and then he turned upon me, and heaped abuse on insult, loading me with accusations and reproaches.  George, white with suppressed rage, called incessantly upon me to go; and at last I dared disobey no longer; but as I went I touched his arm and whispered, “Remember! for my sake.”  His intense “I promise, my darling,” comforted me then—­and afterwards, Nelly.  I went into a little room that opened into the hall and waited.

In about twenty minutes the drawing-room door opened, and they came out.  I heard George’s voice saying this or something equivalent (afterwards I could not accurately recall the words)—­

“Good-night, Mr. Lascelles; I trust our next meeting may be a different one.”

The next sentences on both sides I lost.  Edmund seems to have refused to shake hands with Mr. Manners.  The last words I heard were George’s half-laughing—­

“Next time, Lascelles, I shall not ask for your hand—­I shall take it.”