“Mr Stillford thinks he may offer to pay me some small rent—more or less nominal—for a perpetual right—and that, if he does, I’d better accept.”
“That’ll be rather a dull ending to it all.”
“Mr Stillford thinks it would be a favourable one for me.”
“I don’t believe he means to pay you money. It’ll be something”—she paused a moment—“something prettier than that.”
“What has prettiness to do with it, you child? With a right of way?”
“Prettiness has to do with you, though, Helena. You don’t suppose he thinks only of that wretched path?”
The flush came on the Marchesa’s cheek.
“He can hardly be said to have seen me,” she protested.
“Then look your best when he does—for I’m sure he’s dreamt of you.”