"He's no more lonely than you are, Mr. Broderick," said I, "and yet you always seem to be quite happy."
He did not answer, and I was sorry for my thoughtless words, remembering that brief episode in his life when he had not been lonely.
"So you think I am always quite happy?" said he at last.
I blushed. Somehow the question was of a more intimate kind than the squire had ever addressed to me before, for although he had spoken familiarly to me on my own account, he had never allowed me to know any feeling of his own. I was afraid he must be going to speak to me about Joyce.
"Oh yes," I replied, lightly; "I think you're one of the jolliest people I know."
"Well, you're right, so I am," said he, gayly; "and I'm blessed in having rare good friends. But it does sometimes occur to me to think that I am pretty well alone in the world, Miss Margaret."
He looked round at me in his frank way, but I noticed that the hand which held his stout walking-stick trembled a little. I blushed again. It was very unusual for me, but he made me feel uncomfortable; I did not want him to tell me of his love for my sister, for I felt that if he did I must tell him of her secret engagement to his nephew, and that would be breaking my promise to my parents. Suddenly an idea struck me; I thought I would take the bull by the horns.
"You should marry," said I, boldly.
He looked at me in blank astonishment.