“What is the matter with you, Miss West? Why are you so upset and agitated? Am I so totally unworthy? Is there anything so extravagantly strange in my wishing to marry you?”
“Oh no, no!”—endeavouring to control her feelings, and not give herself away. “But—but——” A scarlet wave rushed into her cheeks. But what would Laurence say?
“Is it to be ‘Yes’ or ‘No’?” he pleaded.
She simply shook her head, and drew back a step or two.
He had never been so near to loving this tall pretty girl, standing under the lime-trees with flushed, averted face, as now, when she shook her head.
“At least you will give me reason,” he demanded, rather sulkily.
As the words left his lips he saw an odd change pass across her face, an expression that he could not understand. It was a look half of fear, half of contemptuous derision.
“There is no reason,” she answered quietly, “beyond the usual one in a similar case. I do not wish to marry you.”
“And why?” he asked, after an appreciable pause.
“Well, really, I have never thought about you, Lord Anthony, but as a pleasant acquaintance. As an acquaintance I like you very much,” she answered, with astounding calmness. “An acquaintance—but nothing more.” And she turned to take up her parasol.