"I never told you, Markham, that I intended to marry Miss Wilson," said he proudly.
"No, but whether you do or not, she intends to marry you."
"Did she tell you so?"
"No, but—"
"Then you have no right to make such an assertion respecting her." He slightly quickened his pony's pace, but I laid my hand on its mane, determined he should not leave me yet.
"Wait a moment, Lawrence, and let me explain myself; and don't be so very—I don't know what to call it—inaccessible as you are.—I know what you think of Jane Wilson; and I believe I know how far you are mistaken in your opinion: you think she is singularly charming, elegant, sensible, and refined: you are not aware that she is selfish, cold-hearted, ambitious, artful, shallow-minded—"
"Enough, Markham, enough."
"No; let me finish.—you don't know
