fire once and again. I chanced to assert one day, with a view to stilling his impatience, that in my own mind I felt positive Miss Fanshawe must intend eventually to accept him.

“Positive! It was easy to say so, but had I any grounds for such assurance?”

“The best grounds.”

“Now, Lucy, do tell me what!”

“You know them as well as I; and, knowing them, Dr. John, it really amazes me that you should not repose the frankest confidence in her fidelity. To doubt, under the circumstances, is almost to insult.”

“Now you are beginning to speak fast and to breathe short; but speak a little faster and breathe a little shorter, till you have given an explanation—a full explanation. I must have it.”

“You shall, Dr. John. In some cases, you are a lavish, generous man; you are a worshipper ever ready with the votive offering. Should Père Silas ever convert you, you will give him abundance of alms for his poor, you will supply his altar with tapers, and the shrine of your favourite saint you will do your best to enrich. Ginevra, Dr. John——”

“Hush!” said he; “don’t go on.”

“Hush I will not, and go on I will. Ginevra has had her hands filled from your hands more times than I can count. You have sought for her the costliest flowers; you have busied your brain in devising gifts the most delicate—such, one would have thought, as only a woman could have imagined; and, in addition, Miss Fanshawe owns a set of ornaments to purchase which your generosity must have verged on extravagance.”

The modesty Ginevra herself had never evinced in this matter now flushed all over the face of her admirer.

“Nonsense!” he said, destructively snipping a skein of silk with my scissors. “I offered them to please myself. I felt she did me a favour in accepting them.”

“She did more than a favour, Dr. John; she pledged her very honour that she would make you some return; and if she cannot pay you in affection, she ought to hand out a business-like equivalent, in the shape of some rouleaux of gold pieces.”

“But you don’t understand her; she is far too disinterested to care for my gifts, and too simple-minded to know their value.”

I laughed out. I had heard her adjudge to every jewel its price; and well I knew money-embarrassment, money-schemes, money’s worth, and endeavours to realize supplies, had, young as she was, furnished the most frequent and the favourite stimulus of her thoughts for years.

He pursued. “You should have seen her whenever I have laid on her lap some trifle—so cool, so unmoved; no eagerness to take, not even pleasure in contemplating. Just from amiable reluctance to grieve me, she would permit the bouquet to lie beside her, and perhaps consent to bear it away. Or, if I achieved the fastening of a bracelet on her ivory arm, however pretty the trinket might be (and I always carefully chose what seemed to me pretty, and what, of course, was not valueless), the glitter never dazzled her bright eyes. She would hardly cast one look on my gift.”

“Then, of course, not valuing it, she would unloose and return it to you?”

“No; for such a repulse she was too good-natured. She would consent to seem to forget what I had done, and retain the offering with ladylike quiet and easy oblivion. Under such circumstances, how can a man build on acceptance of his presents as a favourable symptom? For my part, were I to offer her