hing my face.

    I nod.

    It shall be ours, he says, if we marry

    I say nothing.

    Let me be , o Briar, meaning to get

    you in tune, perer. I saen minutes ood t to seduce you o insult you—to make you only a different kind of captive. I dont . I wiso free you.

    You are very gallant, I say. Suppose I dont care to be freed?

    .

    turn my face—afraid t ting of blood, across my cray me to eady. I say, You forget, my longings count for not my uncles books long to leap from them—

    Yes, yes, ience. You o me already. I t often. But, y-eigead I am  too poor in pocket, but nor too easy in it t I s be scrambling to line it for a little time to come. Do you t eac. Believe me: I ime t may be misspent, clinging to fictions and supposing truths.

    ed o s back  o age , and creased from tie. rand of grey.  bulges queerly, as mens ts do: as if inviting t will crus.

    I say, to come o confess yourself a villain, to suppose me o receive you.

    And yet you ill. You  called for your maid.

    You intrigue me. You he evenness of my days here.

    You seek a distraction from t give t, in a moment! gone!—when you marry me.

    I s be serious.

    I am, however.

    You kno you to take me.

    ly. e s, of course, to devious methods.

    You oo?

    t look like t. Dont suppose I am joking. You dont knorange. Not tion of a o a  servitude, to la, t terms , t is not y. A liberty of a kind not often granted to the members