“Don’t think me mad,” cried the girl, impulsively; “but could you stay away—­I mean, not come here quite so often.”

Fane was too much astonished to speak, and Cecil plunged desperately on.  “You have been so kind to me,” she faltered, “I am afraid of its misleading papa, and his thinking that you have wishes and intentions—­”

“That I might wish to marry you, Cecil?  Is that the misconception you are afraid of?”

“Pray don’t imagine I think so, but he, might; and, oh!  Major Fane, I care most deeply for some one whom I know would not be acceptable to papa.  You, on the contrary, would be everything he could wish—­don’t you see? the disappointment would make the other all the more objectionable to him.”

“I do see my unenviable position,” said Fane, shortly, for it was bad enough to be thrown over himself without being expected to be interested in a rival.  “What do you wish me to do, Miss Rolleston?”

“To forget, if you can, every word I have said,” cried Cecil, in an acces of embarrassment now that she had done it, and the excitement was over.  “What must you think of me!”

Fane was silent for some time, for he was struggling with mortification.  Fortunately for Cecil, he was a gentleman, or he might have revenged himself by assuring her she had totally mistaken his intentions.

“I can’t under-value the sacrifice you ask of me,” said he, presently.  “I do not blame you, for you have never pretended to spare me any affection from the lover you are so true to.  I hope he is worthy of it.”

A pang seized her, as the doubt whether she was not throwing away true gold for counterfeit obtruded itself.  “We are good enough for each other,” said she, simply, “but, at present, his prospects are so discouraging, that we are not even engaged.”  A curious expression passed over Fane’s face.  “But I have money enough for both,” pursued Cecil, “and if papa is not dazzled and attracted by more brilliant—­by you, in short, he must see there is sufficient, and, if I remain firm, eventually consent.”

Her extreme eagerness infected Fane too, and relieved the awkwardness of her strange appeal.

“Still afraid of me!” said he, sadly.  “My poor child!  I fear there is trouble before you.  Will it satisfy you if I get six months’ leave, and go to England?  By that time, perhaps, your complications may have arranged themselves.”

Cecil’s dark eyes beamed on him with the most speaking gratitude.  “You are a true friend,” cried she, warmly, “but how selfish and exacting of me to banish you!”

“Oh, as to that,” said he, with a short laugh, “I shall not dislike it.  I should have got away long ago if I had known what I do now.”

Nothing a woman detests so much as friendship from the man she cares for, and yet she always offers it to the suitor she rejects.

“I never thought you would care really,” said she softly “I hope I have not lost my friend by putting too much confidence in him.”