“She and I do not love one another.”
“But if you love me, Gwendoline, that is the main question. God knows, I love you!”
“You pity me, I am sure; and pity——”
“No, I don’t,” he broke in impetuously, “not in that sense, and I don’t believe in that fusty old saying.”
“And you know nothing about me. You have seen so little of me,” I urged.
“With regard to some people, a little goes a long way. Oh, good heavens, I don’t mean that!”
“I don’t think you know what you mean,” I answered remorselessly.
“Yes, I do; but I am not quick and brilliant like you. I am doing my best to tell you that you are everything in the world to me—more than father, mother, money. I meant that the little I saw of you went a long way to making me care for you; and you are laughing at my blunders, and raising objections. The real, true, and only obstacle is not Lady Hildegarde nor Miss Chalgrove, but Miss Hayes herself. She does not care a brass button about me—any fool can see that!”
He had actually worked himself into a passion.