This was the finishing blow. I succumbed completely before this master-stroke of policy, which my wary antagonist had not disclosed until the last. “Oh! Mrs Clyde,” I said; “how very hard you are to me!” “Pardon me, Mr Lorton,” she replied, as suave as ever.—“But, you will think differently by-and-by, and thank me for acting as I have done! Your foolish fancy for my daughter will soon wear off; and you will live to laugh at your present folly!” “Never!” I said, determinedly, with a full heart. “But you will promise not to speak to my daughter otherwise than as a friend, when you see her again?” she urged:—not at all eagerly, but, quite coolly, as she had spoken all along. I would have preferred her having been angry, to that calm, irritating impassiveness she displayed. She appeared to be a patent condenser of all emotion. “I suppose I must consent to your terms!”—I said, despairingly.—“Although, Mrs Clyde, I give you fair warning that, when I am in a position to renew my suit under better auspices, I will not hold myself bound by this promise.” “Very well, Mr Lorton,” she said, “I accept your proviso; but, when you make your fortune it will be time enough to talk about it! In the meanwhile, relying upon your solemn word as a gentleman not to renew your offer to my daughter, or single her out with your attentions—which might seriously interfere with her future prospects—I shall still be pleased to welcome you occasionally”—with a marked emphasis on the word—“at my house. What we have spoken about had, now, better be forgotten by all parties as soon as possible, excepting your promise, of course, mind!” and she bowed me out triumphantly—she victorious, I thoroughly defeated. What a sad, sad change had occurred since happy last night! All my bright hopes were obscured, my ardent longings quenched by fashionable matter-of-fact; and, Min herself had gone from me, without one single parting word! I was born to be unlucky, I think; everything went wrong with me now. Like the lonely, hopeless hero in Longfellow’s translation of Min’s favourite Coplas de Manrique, I might well exclaim in my misery— CONTENTS “Let no one fondly dream again, That Hope and all her shadowy train Will not decay;
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