“The wish was doubtless father to the thought. She does not like him.”
“And the idea of her saying that you would not be married till you were forty! As if you could not marry to-morrow, if you chose!”
Honor began to feel uncomfortable and to long for the presence of a third person: she made a lively gesture of dissent as she prepared to scramble down an exceedingly steep and greasy footpath.
“You know you could,” pursued Sir Gloster, seizing her hand, by way of giving her assistance, and nearly precipitating her to mother earth. “For example, you might marry me.”
Miss Paske had just assured him that he would succeed in his aims, and he was resolved to test her prophecy without delay.
“Oh, Sir Gloster!” exclaimed the young lady, vainly trying to release her fingers.
“You will let me keep this dear little hand for ever? I fell in love with you almost from the first. You are beautiful and musical, and would understand at once the fitness of things. My mother would like you. Do you think you could care for me, and all that sort of thing?”
“Oh, Sir Gloster,” she repeated, pausing on the path, a sudden red suffusing her cheeks, and looking at him with real dismay, “I like you—but not in that way.”
“Perhaps I have been too sudden. If I were to wait a week or two. Let me talk to your aunt?”
“No, no, please”—with anxious repudiation. “It would make no difference. I am sorry, but I never, never could care for you as you wish.”