Up to this moment, though she knew him well, she could have given no details of his personal appearance.

He was a better-looking man than Hugh Stanbury,--so she told herself with a passing thought; but he lacked--he lacked; what was it that he lacked?
Was it youth, or spirit, or strength; or was it some outward sign of an inward gift of mind?
Was it that he was heavy while Hugh was light?
Was it that she could find no fire in his eye, while Hugh's eyes were full of flashing?
Or was it that for her, especially for her, Hugh was the appointed staff and appropriate wall of protection?
Be all that as it might, she knew at the moment that she did love, not this man, but that other who was writing articles for the Daily Record.

She must refuse the offer that was so brilliant, and give up the idea of reigning as queen at Monkhams.
"Oh, Mr.Glascock," she said, "I ought to answer you more quickly." "No, dearest; not more quickly than suits you.

Nothing ever in this world can be more important both to you and to me.

If you want more time to think of it, take more time." "No, Mr.Glascock; I do not.