He paused, then continued:  “As it began, so it has gone on.  It is always like that, is it not?  The beginning is everything, the end must follow.  And now it has come out, as I was fully determined that it should not do half an hour ago, when suddenly you developed eyes in the back of your head, and—­oh! dearest, I love you.  No, please be quiet; I have not done.  I have told you what I am, and really there isn’t much more to say about me, for I have no particular vices except the worst of them all, idleness, and not the slightest trace of any virtue that I can discover.  But I have a certain knowledge of the world acquired in a long course of shooting parties, and as a man of the world I will venture to give you a bit of advice.  It is possible that to you my life and death affair is a mere matter of board-ship amusement.  Yet it is possible also that you might take another view of the matter.  In that case, as a friend and a man of the world, I entreat you—­don’t.  Have nothing to do with me.  Send me about my business; you will never regret it.”

“Are you making fun, or is all this meant, Mr. Seymour?” asked Benita, still speaking beneath her breath, and looking straight before her.

“Meant?  Of course it is meant.  How can you ask?”

“Because I have always understood that on such occasions people wish to make the best of themselves.”

“Quite so, but I never do what I ought, a fact for which I am grateful now come to think of it, since otherwise I should not be here to-night.  I wish to make the worst of myself, the very worst, for whatever I am not, at least I am honest.  Now having told you that I am, or was half an hour ago, an idler, a good-for-nothing, prospectless failure, I ask you—­if you care to hear any more?”

She half rose, and, glancing at him for the first time, saw his face contract itself and turn pale in the moonlight.  It may be that the sight of it affected her, even to the extent of removing some adverse impression left by the bitter mocking of his self-blame.  At any rate, Benita seemed to change her mind, and sat down again, saying: 

“Go on, if you wish.”

He bowed slightly, and said: 

“I thank you.  I have told you what I was half an hour ago; now, hoping that you will believe me, I will tell you what I am.  I am a truly repentant man, one upon whom a new light has risen.  I am not very old, and I think that underneath it all I have some ability.  Opportunity may still come my way; if it does not, for your sake I will make the opportunity.  I do not believe that you can ever find anyone who would love you better or care for you more tenderly.  I desire to live for you in the future, more completely even than in the past I have lived for myself.  I do not wish to influence you by personal appeals, but in fact I stand at the parting of the ways.  If you will give yourself to me I feel as though I might still become a husband of whom you could be proud—­if not, I write ‘Finis’ upon the tombstone of the possibilities of Robert Seymour.  I adore you.  You are the one woman with whom I desire to pass my days; it is you who have always been lacking to my life.  I ask you to be brave, to take the risk of marrying me, although I can see nothing but poverty ahead of us, for I am an adventurer.”