Did she really love him? Though she was so pressed by consideration of time, she did find a moment in which to ask herself the question. With a quick turn of an eye she glanced at him, to see what he was like. Up to this moment, though she knew him well, she could have given no details of his personal appearance. He was a better-looking man than Hugh Stanbury,—so she told herself with a passing thought; but he lacked—he lacked; what was it that he lacked? Was it youth, or spirit, or strength; or was it some outward sign of an inward gift of mind? Was it that he was heavy while Hugh was light? Was it that she could find no fire in his eye, while Hugh's eyes were full of flashing? Or was it that for her, especially for her, Hugh was the appointed staff and appropriate wall of protection? Be all that as it might, she knew at the moment that she did love, not this man, but that other who was writing articles for the Daily Record. She must refuse the offer that was so brilliant, and give up the idea of reigning as queen at Monkhams.
"Oh, Mr. Glascock," she said, "I ought to answer you more quickly."
"No, dearest; not more quickly than suits you. Nothing ever in this world can be more important both to you and to me. If you want more time to think of it, take more time."
"No, Mr. Glascock; I do not. I don't know why I should have paused. Is not the truth best?"
"Yes,—certainly the truth is best."
"I do not—love you. Pray, pray understand me."
"I understand it too well, Miss Rowley." The stick was still going, and the eyes more intently fixed than ever on something opposite.
"I do like you; I like you very much. And I am so grateful! I cannot understand why such a man as you should want to make me your wife."
"Because I love you better than all the others; simply that. That reason, and that only, justifies a man in wanting to marry a girl." What a good fellow he was, and how flattering were his words! Did he not deserve what he wanted, even though it could not be given without a sacrifice? But yet she did not love him. As she looked at him again she could not there recognise her staff. As she looked at him she was more than ever convinced that that other staff ought to be her staff. "May I come again,—after a month, say?" he asked, when there had been another short period of silence.
"No, no. Why should you trouble yourself? I am not worth it."