Laetitia burst forth with:  “No!”

“I do not know you?” said he, searchingly mellifluous.

“Hardly.”

“How not?”

“I am changed.”

“In what way?”

“Deeply.”

“Sedater?”

“Materially.”

“Colour will come back:  have no fear; I promise it.  If you imagine you want renewing, I have the specific, I, my love, I!”

“Forgive me—­will you tell me, Sir Willoughby, whether you have broken with Miss Middleton?”

“Rest satisfied, my dear Laetitia.  She is as free as I am.  I can do no more than a man of honour should do.  She releases me.  To-morrow or next day she departs.  We, Laetitia, you and I, my love, are home birds.  It does not do for the home bird to couple with the migratory.  The little imperceptible change you allude to, is nothing.  Italy will restore you.  I am ready to stake my own health—­never yet shaken by a doctor of medicine:—­I say medicine advisedly, for there are doctors of divinity who would shake giants:—­that an Italian trip will send you back—­that I shall bring you home from Italy a blooming bride.  You shake your head—­despondently?  My love, I guarantee it.  Cannot I give you colour?  Behold!  Come to the light, look in the glass.”

“I may redden,” said Laetitia.  “I suppose that is due to the action of the heart.  I am changed.  Heart, for any other purpose, I have not.  I am like you, Sir Willoughby, in this:  I could not marry without loving, and I do not know what love is, except that it is an empty dream.”

“Marriage, my dearest. . .”

“You are mistaken.”

“I will cure you, my Laetitia.  Look to me, I am the tonic.  It is not common confidence, but conviction.  I, my love, I!”

“There is no cure for what I feel, Sir Willoughby.”

“Spare me the formal prefix, I beg.  You place your hand in mine, relying on me.  I am pledge for the remainder.  We end as we began:  my request is for your hand—­your hand in marriage.”

“I cannot give it.”

“To be my wife!”

“It is an honour; I must decline it.”

“Are you quite well, Laetitia?  I propose in the plainest terms I can employ, to make you Lady Patterne—­mine.”

“I am compelled to refuse.”

“Why?  Refuse?  Your reason!”

“The reason has been named.”

He took a stride to inspirit his wits.

“There’s a madness comes over women at times, I know.  Answer me, Laetitia:—­by all the evidence a man can have, I could swear it:—­but answer me; you loved me once?”

“I was an exceedingly foolish, romantic girl.”