“But you do not disapprove?—I see you guess why. Oh! Mr. Gibson, just speak to me one word of what must be in your heart, though you are pretending not to understand why I would give worlds to see Molly again before I go!”

“My dear boy!” said Mr. Gibson, more affected than he liked to show, and laying his hand on Roger’s shoulder. Then he pulled himself up, and said gravely enough—

“Mind, Molly is not Cynthia. If she were to care for you, she is not one who could transfer her love to the next comer.”

“You mean, not as readily as I have done,” replied Roger. “I only wish you could know what a different feeling this is from my boyish love for Cynthia.”

“I wasn’t thinking of you when I spoke; but, however, as I might have remembered afterwards that you were not a model of constancy, let us hear what you have to say for yourself.”

“Not much. I did love Cynthia very much. Her manners and her beauty bewitched me; but her letters,— short, hurried letters—sometimes showing that she really hadn’t taken the trouble to read mine through—I cannot tell you the pain they gave me! Twelve months’ solitude, in frequent danger of one’s life—face to face with death— sometimes ages a man like many years’ experience. Still, I longed for the time when I should see her sweet face again, and hear her speak. Then the letter at the Cape!—and still I hoped. But you know how I found her—when I went to have the interview which I trusted might end in the renewal of our relations—engaged to Mr. Henderson. I saw her walking with him in your garden, coquetting with him about a flower, just as she used to do with me. I can see the pitying look in Molly’s eyes as she watched me; I can see it now. And I could beat myself for being such a blind fool as to—— What must she think of me! how she must despise me, choosing the false Duessa!”

“Come, come! Cynthia isn’t so bad as that. She’s a very fascinating, faulty creature.”

“I know! I know! I will never allow any one to say a word against her. If I called her the false Duessa, it was because I wanted to express my sense of the difference between her and Molly as strongly as I could. You must allow for a lover’s exaggeration. Besides, all I wanted to say was—Do you think that Molly, after seeing and knowing that I had loved a person so inferior to herself, could ever be brought to listen to me?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell. And, even if I could, I wouldn’t. Only, if it’s any comfort to you, I may say what my experience has taught me. Women are queer, unreasoning creatures, and are just as likely as not to love a man who has been throwing away his affection.”

“Thank you, sir!” said Roger, interrupting him. “I see you mean to give me encouragement. And I had resolved never to give Molly a hint of what I felt till I returned—and then to try and win her by every means in my power. I determined not to repeat the former scene in the former place—in your drawing- room—however much I might be tempted. And perhaps, after all, she avoided me when she was here last.”

“Now, Roger, I’ve listened to you long enough. If you’ve nothing better to do with your time than to talk about my daughter, I have. When you come back, it will be time enough to inquire how far your father would approve of such an engagement.”

“He himself urged it upon me the other day—but then I was in despair—I thought it was too late.”

“And what means you are likely to have of maintaining a wife. I always thought that point was passed too lightly over when you formed your hurried engagement to Cynthia. I’m not mercenary—Molly has some money independently of me—that she by the way knows nothing of—not much; —and I can allow her something. But all these things must be left till your return.”