"The day after to-morrow—please. I'll write."
"You want to get used to the idea!" Cyril smiled down on her, having little doubt how things would end. He knew himself to be an attractive young fellow, good-looking and gentlemanly; and he knew Emmie liked him; and he could not but be aware of the social advantages which he was offering. "Well—just two days! But you will have pity on my suspense."
"Oh—yes!"
Emmie fled; and Cyril stood alone, a consciousness already creeping over him that he had run on faster than he had intended. For some time past, he had seen this lying ahead, not as a thing certain, but as a thing probable. Still, he had not meant to bind himself so soon.
And now the deed was done!
Cyril tried to believe that it was best so—that decisive action was better than hesitancy and delay. After all, he would no doubt have reached the same goal in the end! Why not in the beginning? Now he knew what lay before him. Emmie had not yet accepted his offer, it was true; but who could doubt what her answer would be? Not Cyril at all events. He smiled over the recollection of her face; and then he smiled again to think how happy he would make her at the Brow. Sweet dark-eyed Emmie! Dear little rosy-checked Emmie! She should have a life as free from care as a devoted husband could render it.
There was "aunt Sybella!" But, of course, aunt Sybella would conform to his wishes. Aunt Sybella was not mistress of his house, whatever she might think. When Emmie was mistress, aunt Sybella would have to abdicate. Moreover, he was not going to have his gentle Emmie's life embittered by domestic broils. Aunt Sybella would have to make herself agreeable to Sir Cyril's wife, or she would have to find a home elsewhere.
His Emmie! His wife! It had come to that!
He almost thought Mrs. Lucas would walk in directly, to tell him how delighted she was, and how gladly she would accept him as her son. But she did not; and after waiting a good ten minutes, Cyril decided to leave. After all, Emmie had given him his congé for the moment; and the mother and daughter would want a quiet hour together.
Opening the door, he was arrested by an unexpected sight—a sight no less terrible than unexpected. Captain Lucas, with vacant eyes and deeply-flushed face, was staggering across the hall, swaying heavily from side to side, while his wife, pale as death, endeavoured to hold him up, and to guide his uncertain steps.