And now the departure from Courcy Castle came rapidly one after the other, and there remained but one more evening before Miss Dunstable’s carriage was to be packed. The countess, in the early moments of Frank’s courtship, had controlled his ardour and checked the rapidity of his amorous professions; but as days, and at last weeks, wore away, she found that it was necessary to stir the fire which she had before endeavoured to slacken.

‘There will be nobody here to-night but our own circle,’ said she to him, ‘and I really think you should tell Miss Dunstable what your intentions are. She will have fair ground to complain of you if you don’t.’

Frank began to feel that he was in a dilemma. He had commenced making love to Miss Dunstable partly because he liked the amusement, and partly from a satirical propensity to quiz his aunt by appearing to fall into her scheme. But he had overshot the mark, and did not know what answer to give when he was thus called upon to make a downright proposal. And then, although he did not care two rushes about Miss Dunstable in the way of love, he nevertheless experienced a sort of jealousy when he found that she appeared to be indifferent to him, and that she corresponded the meanwhile with his cousin George. Though all their flirtations had been carried on on both sides palpably by way of fun, though Frank had told himself ten times a day that his heart was true to Mary Thorne, yet he had an undefined feeling that it behoved Miss Dunstable to be a little in love with him. He was not quite at ease in that she was not a little melancholy now that his departure was so nigh; and, above all, he was anxious to know what were the real facts about that letter. He had in his own breast threatened Miss Dunstable with a heartache; and now, when the time for their separation came, he found that his own heart was the more likely to ache of the two.

‘I suppose I must say something to her, or my aunt will never be satisfied,’ said he to himself as he sauntered into the little drawing-room on that last evening. But at the very time he was ashamed of himself, for he knew he was going to ask badly.

His sister and one of his cousins were in the room, but his aunt, who was quite on the alert, soon got them out of it, and Frank and Miss Dunstable were alone.

‘So all our fun and all our laughter is come to an end,’ said she, beginning the conversation. ‘I don’t know how you feel, but for myself I really am a little melancholy at the idea of parting;’ and she looked up at him with her laughing black eyes, as though she never had, and never could have a care in the world.

‘Melancholy! oh, yes; you look so,’ said Frank, who really did feel somewhat lackadaisically sentimental.

‘But how thoroughly glad the countess must be that we are both going,’ continued she. ‘I declare we have treated her most infamously. Ever since we’ve been here we’ve had the amusement to ourselves. I’ve sometimes thought she would turn me out of the house.’

‘I wish with all my heart she had.’

‘Oh, you cruel barbarian! why on earth should you wish that?’

‘That I might have joined you in your exile. I hate Courcy Castle, and should have rejoiced to leave — and — and —’

‘And what?’

‘And I love Miss Dunstable, and should have doubly, trebly rejoiced to leave it with her.’

Frank’s voice quivered a little as he made this gallant profession; but still Miss Dunstable only laughed the louder. ‘Upon my word, of all my knights you are by far the best behaved,’ said she, ‘and say much the prettiest things.’ Frank became rather red in the face, and felt that he did so. Miss Dunstable was treating him like a boy. While she pretended to be so fond of him she was only laughing at him, and corresponding the while with his cousin George. Now Frank Gresham already entertained a sort of contempt for his cousin, which increased the bitterness of his feelings. Could it really be possible that George had succeeded while he had utterly failed; that his stupid cousin had touched the heart of the heiress while she was playing with him as with a boy?

‘Of all your knights! Is that the way you talk to me when we are going to part? When was it, Miss Dunstable, that George de Courcy became one of them?’

Miss Dunstable for a while looked serious enough. ‘What makes you ask that?’ said she. ‘What makes you inquire about Mr de Courcy?’

‘Oh, I have eyes, you know, and can’t help seeing. Not that I see, or have seen anything that I could possibly help.’

‘And what have you seen, Mr Gresham?’

‘Why, I know you have been writing to him.’

‘Did he tell you so?’

‘No; he did not tell me; but I know it.’

For a moment she sat silent, and then her face again resumed its usual happy smile. ‘Come, Mr Gresham, you are not going to quarrel with me, I hope, even if I did write a letter to your cousin. Why should I not write to him? I correspond with all manner of people. I’ll write to you some of these days if you’ll let me, and will promise to answer my letters.’

Frank threw himself back on the sofa on which he was sitting, and, in doing so, brought himself somewhat nearer to his companion than he had been; he then drew his hand slowly across his forehead, pushing back his thick hair, and as he did so he sighed somewhat plaintively.

‘I do not care,’ said he, ‘for the privilege of correspondence on such terms. If my cousin George is to be a correspondent of yours also, I will give up my claim.’

And then he sighed again, so that it was piteous to hear him. He was certainly an arrant puppy, and an egregious ass into the bargain; but then, it must be remembered in his favour that he was only twenty-one, and that much had been done to spoil him. Miss Dunstable did remember this, and therefore abstained from laughing at him.

‘Why, Mr Gresham, what on earth do you mean? In all human probability I shall never write another line to Mr de Courcy; but, if I did, what possible harm could it do you?’

‘Oh, Miss Dunstable! you do not in the least understand what my feelings are.’

‘Don’t I? Then I hope I never shall. I thought I did. I thought they were the feelings of a good, true-hearted friend; feelings that I could sometimes look back upon with pleasure as being honest when so much that one meets is false. I have become very fond of you, Mr Gresham, and I should be sorry to think that I did not understand your feelings.’

This was almost worse and worse. Young ladies like Miss Dunstable — for she was still to be numbered in the category of young ladies — do not usually tell young gentlemen that they are very fond of them. To boys and girls they may make such a declaration. Now Frank Gresham regarded himself as one who had already fought his battles, and fought them not without glory; he could not therefore endure to be thus openly told by Miss Dunstable that she was very fond of him.

‘Fond of me, Miss Dunstable! I wish you were.’

‘So I am — very.’

‘You little know how fond I am of you, Miss Dunstable,’ and he put out his hand to take hold of hers. She then lifted up her own, and slapped him lightly on the knuckles.

‘And what can you have say to Miss Dunstable that can make it necessary that you should pinch her hand? I tell you fairly, Mr Gresham, if you make a fool of yourself, I shall come to a conclusion that you are all fools, and that it is hopeless to look out for any one worth caring for.’

Such advice as this, so kindly given, so wisely meant, so clearly intelligible he should have taken and understood, young as he was. but even yet he did not do so.

‘A fool of myself! Yes; I suppose I must be a fool if I have so much regard for Miss Dunstable as to make it painful for me to know that I am to see her no more: a fool: yes, of course I am a fool — a man is always a fool when he loves.’

Miss Dunstable could not pretend to doubt his meaning any longer; and was determined to stop him, let it cost what it would. She now put out her hand, not over white, and, as Frank soon perceived, gifted with a very fair allowance of strength.

‘Now, Mr Gresham,’ said she, ‘before you go any further you shall listen to me. Will you listen to me for a moment without interrupting me?’

Frank was of course obliged to promise that he would do so.

‘You are going — or rather you were going, for I shall stop you — to make a profession of love.’

‘A profession!’ said Frank making a slight unsuccessful effort to get his hand free.

‘Yes; a profession — a false profession, Mr Gresham,— a false profession — a false profession. Look into your heart — into you............