"Yes; you told me so."
"The only doubt on my mind is whether perhaps I may be saying it too soon. That's the doubt. But I don't want to wait longer. I want you to understand. But, remember, if I speak out now, I don't press for a hurried answer. If you cannot at once reply as I wish, I am willing to wait. I will give you any length of time to think it over—to get used to the idea. Perhaps it may be a now idea to you—and yet I have some hopes. You have been very kind to me lately."
"I think it is you who have been kind to me," Mildred said unsteadily, glad once more of her veil.
"My wish is to be kind to you, not now only, but always—through life. I should like to have it in my power to make yours a very happy life, so far as one has power over another's happiness. This is not a new thought with me. Even that first time that we met, when you were so sad, and I tried to comfort you, I found—not at the moment but afterward—that I could not shake off the recollection of your face. When I came down here again last autumn, I made no effort to see you, though once or twice I had a glimpse without trying. But every one spoke of you. It was singular, in those three days, how often your name came up, and how many warm words were said. Then, this time we met by accident—at least, with no effort on your part or mine—and that one walk decided me. I have known ever since how things might be with me. I made up my mind then to stay on here for several weeks, and to see as much of you as possible. And—I have done so."
"It has been very good of you," Mildred said in a low tone.
"I don't know about the goodness. I have pleased myself in doing it. But the question has arisen now—shall I stay longer, or shall I go back at once to London?"
Mildred was silent.
"And I am going to ask you to settle that question for me. I should like to stay—if you have not seen too much of me. Will you let me? Or would you rather that I should go? If I stay, I shall want to see a good deal of you—as much as can be managed. Do you think you would miss me at all, if I were to go, Mildred?"
He had never before called her by her name. She caught her breath slightly, and then said, "Yes, I think I should."
"That gives me hope. And if I stay, it will be for a purpose. I want to win you to be my wife. Perhaps you cannot yet promise. You may want to see a little more of me first. When you know me better—"