“Yes, isn’t it? The hall and galleries are real Tudor, and the park is lovely.”
“How would you like to live there?”
“I?” and as she turned to him her air was lofty. “What a—a—an extraordinary question!”
“Yes,” he replied, with hasty penitence; “please forgive me, it was more than extraordinary, it was impertinent.”
“By the way (it was, after all, the girl who broke the ice), I must ask you to excuse me for my inquisitive question the other day in the garden.”
“You wanted to know why I hung on at Ottinge, with little or nothing to do?” and he paused. “I think you do know, Miss Morven, in fact, I’m sure you know. I’d be only too glad to speak out, but my hands and tongue are tied. I’ve given a promise I’m bound to keep, and between you and my absolute confidence, there stands at present an enormous obstacle.”
“Oh!”
“I ought to tell you that I’m not what I seem.”
“Of course,” with a touch of impatience, “you are a gentleman by birth; I’ve always known that.”
“Nor am I here in my own name—only my christian name; but I’ve never done anything to disgrace it, I give you my word of honour.” As he came to a halt and faced her, and the setting sun shone into his truthful eyes and touched his crisp brown locks, the glow of the evening air seemed to give added force to his personality. “I’ve played the fool—the silly ass—and I’ve got to pay. How I wish I might talk to you openly, and tell you all about myself!”