"Oh, no, no. Would it not be painful to you? I thought—you did not like Mr. Luttrell." She spoke with great hesitation.
Percival made a grimace. "I don't say that I do like him. I mean to say that I want to show you—and myself—that I do—a little bit—regret my silence, and will try my best to remedy the mischief caused by it. A frank confession which ought to please you."
"It does please me. I am sure of it. But you must not go—you must not leave your work——"
"Oh, my work can be easily done by somebody else. That is what this telegram is about, by-the-bye. I must send an answer, and it depends upon your decision."
"Can I not consult any one? My uncle? Mr. Colquhoun?"
"You know Mr. Colquhoun's opinion. My father will think exactly as you and I do. No, it depends entirely upon whether you think I shall do your errand well, Elizabeth, and whether you will give me the chance of showing that I am not so ungenerous and so base as you say you think me. Tell me to fetch Brian Luttrell home again, and I will go."
And, with tears in her eyes, Elizabeth said, "Go."