“Again, not very flattering to my self-love,” said Eugene, moodily; “but yes. Yes. Yes.”

“Then I beseech you, Mr. Wrayburn, I beg and pray you, leave this neighbourhood. If you do not, consider to what you will drive me.”

He did consider within himself for a moment or two, and then retorted, “Drive you? To what shall I drive you, Lizzie?”

“You will drive me away. I live here peacefully and respected, and I am well employed here. You will force me to quit this place as I quitted London, and⁠—by following me again⁠—will force me to quit the next place in which I may find refuge, as I quitted this.”

“Are you so determined, Lizzie⁠—forgive the word I am going to use, for its literal truth⁠—to fly from a lover?”