had answered by explaining to her, or endeavouring to explain, that
their engagement must be at an end. And now she had followed him to
London! 'Tell me everything,' she said, leaning upon him and looking
up into his face.

'But you,--when did you arrive here?'

'Here, at this house, I arrived the night before last. On Tuesday I
reached Liverpool. There I found that you were probably in London, and
so I came on. I have come only to see you. I can understand that you
should have been estranged from me. That journey home is now so long
ago! Our meeting in New York was so short and wretched. I would not
tell you because you then were poor yourself, but at that moment I was
penniless. I have got my own now out from the very teeth of robbers.'
As she said this, she looked as though she could be very persistent in
claiming her own,--or what she might think to be her own. 'I could not
get across to San Francisco as I said I would, and when I was there
you had quarrelled with your uncle and returned. And now I am here. I
at any rate have been faithful.' As she said this his arm was again
thrown over her, so as to press her head to his knee. 'And now,' she
said, 'tell me about yourself?'

His position was embarrassing and very odious to himself. Had he done
his duty properly, he would gently have pushed her from him, have
sprung to his legs, and have declared that, however faulty might have
been his previous conduct, he now found himself bound to make her
understand that he did not intend to become her husband. But he was
either too much of a man or too little of a man for conduct such as
that. He did make the avowal to himself, even at that moment as she
sat there. Let the matter go as it would, she should never be his