The girl saw his kindness and was grateful.  In the revulsion against the Andrews he seemed a link with the more pleasant sides of life, and soon in her despair and anger his modest merits took heroic proportions in her eyes.  She forgot her past dislike; she thought only of this, the simple good man, contrasted with the showy and fickle-hearted—­true metal against glittering tinsel.  His very weaknesses seemed homely and venial.  He was of her own world, akin to the things which deep down in her soul she knew she must love to the last.  It is to the credit of the man’s insight that he saw the mood and took pains to foster it.

Twice he asked her to marry him.  The first time her heart was still sore with disappointment and she refused—­yet half-heartedly.

He waited his time and when the natural cheerfulness of her temper was beginning to rise, he again tried his fortune.

“I cannot,” she cried.  “I cannot.  I like you very much, but oh, it is too much to ask me to marry you.”

“But I love you with all my heart, Alice.”  And the honesty of his tone and the distant thought of a very different hope brought the tears to her eyes.

He had forgotten all pompous dreams and the stilted prospects with which he had aforetime hoped to beguile his wife.  The man was plain and simple now, a being very much on fire with an honest passion.  He may have left her love-cold, but he touched the sympathy which in a true woman is love’s nearest neighbour.  Before she knew herself she had promised, and had been kissed respectfully and tenderly by her delighted lover.  For a moment she felt something like joy, and then, with a dreadful thought of the baselessness of her pleasure, walked slowly homewards by his side.

The next morning Alice rose with a dreary sense of the irrevocable.  A door seemed to have closed behind her, and the future stretched before her in a straight dusty path with few nooks and shadows.  This was not the blithe morning of betrothal she had looked for.  The rapturous outlook on life which she had dreamed of was replaced by a cold and business-like calculation of profits.  The rose garden of the “god unconquered in battle” was exchanged for a very shoddy and huckstering paradise.

Mrs. Andrews claimed her company all the morning, and with the pertinacity of her kind soon guessed the very obvious secret.  Her gushing congratulations drove the girl distracted.  She praised the good Stocks, and Alice drank in the comfort of such words with greedy ears.  From one young man she passed to another, and hung lovingly over the perfections of Mr. Haystoun.  “He has the real distinction, dear,” she cried, “which you can never mistake.  It only belongs to old blood and it is quite inimitable.  His friends are so charming, too, and you can always tell a man by his people.  It is so pleasant to fall in with old acquaintances again.  That dear Lady Clanroyden promised to come over soon.  I quite long to see her, for I feel as if I had known her for ages.”