“And yet you would have me change.”

“Yes, of course I would.  If your heart be free now, it must of course be changed before you come to love any man.  Such change as that is to be looked for.  But when you have loved, then it will not be easy to change you.”

“But I have not.”

“Then I have a right to hope.  I have been hanging on here, Bell, longer than I ought to have done, because I could not bring myself to leave you without speaking of this again.  I did not wish to seem to you to be importunate—­”

“If you could only believe me in what I say.”

“It is not that I do not believe.  I am not a puppy or a fool to flatter myself that you must be in love with me.  I believe you well enough.  But still it is possible that your mind may alter.”

“It is impossible.”

“I do not know whether my uncle or your mother have spoken to you about this.”

“Such speaking would have no effect.”

In fact her mother had spoken to her, but she truly said that such speaking would have no effect.  If her cousin could not win the battle by his own skill, he might have been quite sure, looking at her character as it was known to him, that he would not be able to win it by the skill of others.

“We have all been made very unhappy,” he went on to say, by this calamity which has fallen on poor Lily.

“And because she has been deceived by the man she did love, I am to make matters square by marrying a man I—­” and then she paused.  “Dear Bernard, you should not drive me to say words which will sound harsh to you.”

“No words can be harsher than those which you have already spoken.  But Bell, at any rate, you may listen to me.”

Then he told her how desirable it was with reference to all the concerns of the Dale family that she should endeavour to look favourably on his proposition.  It would be good for them all, he said, especially for Lily, as to whom at the present moment their uncle felt so kindly.  He, as Bernard pleaded, was so anxious at heart for this marriage, that he would do anything that was asked of him if he were gratified.  But if he were not gratified in this he would feel that he had ground for displeasure.

Bell, as she had been desired to listen, did listen very patiently.  But when her cousin had finished, her answer was very short.  “Nothing that my uncle can say, or think, or do can make any difference in this,” said she.

“You will think nothing, then, of the happiness of others.”

“I would not marry a man I did not love, to ensure any amount of happiness to others;—­at least I know I ought not to do so.  But I do not believe I should ensure any one’s happiness by this marriage.  Certainly not yours.”

After this Bernard had acknowledged to himself that the difficulties in his way were great.  “I will go away till next autumn,” he said to his uncle.

“If you would give up your profession and remain here, she would not be so perverse.”