‘Mr Glascock, what can I say?’ she replied.  ’I will tell you the honest truth—­I will tell you everything.  I came into this room determined to accept you.  But you are so good, and so kind, and so upright, that I cannot tell you a falsehood.  I do not love you.  I ought not to take what you offer me.  If I did, it would be because you are rich, and a lord; and not because I love you.  I love some one else.  There pray, pray do not tell of me; but I do.’  Then she flung away from him and hid her face in a corner of the sofa out of the light.

Her lover stood silent, not knowing how to go on with the conversation, not knowing how to bring it to an end.  After what she had now said to him it was impossible that he should press her further.  It was almost impossible that he should wish to do so.  When a lady is frank enough to declare that her heart is not her own to give, a man can hardly wish to make further prayer for the gift.  ‘If so,’ he said, ’of course I have nothing to hope.’

She was sobbing, and could not answer him.  She was half repentant, partly proud of what she had done half repentant in that she had lost what had seemed to her to be so good, and full of remorse in that she had so unnecessarily told her secret.

‘Perhaps,’ said he, ’I ought to assure you that what you have told me shall never be repeated by my lips.’

She thanked him for this by a motion of her head and hand, not by words and then he was gone.  How he managed to bid adieu to Mrs Stanbury and her sister, or whether he saw them as he left the house, she never knew.  In her corner of the sofa, weeping in the dark, partly proud and partly repentant, she remained till her sister came to her.  ‘Emily,’ she said, jumping up, ’say nothing about it; not a word.  It is of no use.  The thing is done and over, and let it altogether be forgotten.’

‘It is done and over, certainly,’ said Mrs Trevelyan.

’Exactly; and I suppose a girl may do what she likes with herself in that way.  If I choose to decline to take anything that is pleasant, and nice, and comfortable, nobody has a right to scold me.  And I won’t be scolded.’

‘But, my child, who is scolding you?’

’You mean to scold me.  But it is of no use.  The man has gone, and there is an end of it.  Nothing that you can say or I can think will bring him back again.  I don’t want anybody to tell me that it would be better to be Lady Peterborough, with everything that the world has to give, than to live here without a soul to speak to, and to have to go back to those horrible islands next year.  You can’t think that I am very comfortable.’

‘But what did you say to him, Nora?’

’What did I say to him?  What could I say to him?  Why didn’t he ask me to be his wife without saying anything about love?  He asked me if I loved him.  Of course I don’t love him.  I would have said I did, but it stuck in my throat.  I am willing enough, I believe, to sell myself to the devil, but I don’t know how to do it.  Never mind.  It’s done, and now I’ll go to bed.’