“Little sceptic, you shall be convinced. What love have I for Miss Ingram? None: and that you know.

What love has she for me? None: as I have taken pains to prove: I caused a rumour to reach her that my fortune was not a third of what was supposed, and after that I presented myself to see the result; it was coldness both from her and her mother. I would not — I could not — marry Miss Ingram. You — you strange, you almost unearthly thing! — I love as my own flesh. You — poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are — I entreat to accept me as a husband.”

“What, me!” I ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness — and especially in his incivility — to credit his sincerity: “me who have not a friend in the world but you —