"How do you do, Captain Ivor?"
Denham Ivor in his uniform—large-skirted military coat, black gaiters, white breeches, pigtail, and gold-laced cocked hat in hand—looked even taller than when out of it; and at all times he was wont to overtop the average man. He had a fine face, well-browned, with regular features and dark eyes, ordinarily calm, and he bore his head in a stately fashion, while his manners were marked by a grave courtesy which might seem strange beside modern freedom. As he looked down upon Polly a subdued glow awoke in those serious eyes.
Polly had not sprung up. She was still kneeling on the floor beside Molly, and her slim figure in its white frock looked very childlike. The flush had died as fast as it had arisen. Molly was clinging to her with hidden face, and for an instant the fresh voice failed to reach the younger girl's understanding. Then Molly became aware of another spectator, and, quitting her hold, she fled from the room. Polly stood up gracefully.
"We will now go to the drawing-room," she suggested.
"Nay, wait a moment, I entreat. One instant—" and the bronzed face had grown pale. "I beseech of you to listen to me. For indeed, madam, I have somewhat to say which I can no longer resolve to keep to myself. No—not even for one more day. Somewhat that you alone can answer—thereby making me the most happy or the most miserable of men."
A tiny gleam came to Polly's downcast eyes.
"If you have aught that is weighty to say, it may be that I could but refer you to my grandmother," she suggested demurely.
"But perhaps you can divine what that weighty thing is! And what if already I have written to your grandmother, and if Mrs. Fairbank has graciously consented to my suit? For indeed it is even so."
Young ladies did not give themselves away too cheaply in those days. Polly was barely eighteen, but for all that she had a very dainty air of dignity. And if during past weeks she had gone through some troublous hours, recognising how much she cared for Captain Ivor, and wondering, despite his marked attentions, whether he really cared for her, she was not going to admit as much in any haste to the individual in question. So she dropped an elegant little curtsey, and asked with the most innocent air imaginable—
"Then pray, sir, what may be your will?"