“You must confess that if you had not loved me you would have done nothing for my father.”

“Certainly I will confess nothing of the kind; I would readily do as much, and maybe more, out of regard for your worthy mother.  It is quite possible, indeed, that in doing this small service for your father I had no thoughts of you at all.”

“It might be so; but I do not believe it was so.  Forgive me, dearest, but I cannot make up my mind to pay my debts in the way you wish.”

“It seems to me that if you are grateful to me your love ought to be still more ardent.”

“It cannot be more ardent than it is already.”

“Do you know how grievously you make me suffer?”

“Alas!  I suffer too; but do not reproach me; let us love each other still.”

This dialogue is not the hundredth part of what actually passed between us till dinner-time.  The mother came in, and finding me seated at the foot of the daughter’s bed, laughed, and asked me why I kept her in bed.  I answered with perfect coolness that we had been so interested in our conversation that we had not noticed the flight of time.

I went to dress, and as I thought over the extraordinary change which had taken place in Sara I resolved that it should not last for long.  We dined together gaily, and Sara and I behaved in all respects like two lovers.  In the evening I took them to the Italian Opera, coming home to an excellent supper.

The next morning I passed in the city, having accounts to settle with my bankers.  I got some letters of exchange on Geneva, and said farewell to the worthy Mr. Bosanquet.  In the afternoon I got a coach for Madame M——­ F——­ to pay some farewells calls, and I went to say good-bye to my daughter at school.  The dear little girl burst into tears, saying that she would be lost without me, and begging me not to forget her.  I was deeply moved.  Sophie begged me to go and see her mother before I left England, and I decided on doing so.

At supper we talked over our journey, and M. M——­ F——­ agreed with me that it would be better to go by Dunkirk than Ostend.  He had very little more business to attend to.  His debts were paid, and he said he thought he would have a matter of fifty guineas in his pocket at the journey’s end, after paying a third share of all the travelling expenses.  I had to agree to this, though I made up my mind at the same time not to let him see any of the accounts.  I hoped to win Sara, in one way or another, when we got to Berne.

The next day, after breakfast, I took her hand in presence of her mother, and asked her if she would give me her heart if I could obtain her father’s consent at Berne.

“Your mother,” I added, “has promised me that hers shall not be wanting.”

At this the mother got up, and saying that we had no doubt a good deal to talk over, she and her eldest daughter went out to pay some calls.

As soon as we were alone Sara said that she could not understand how I could have the smallest doubt as to whether her consent would be given.