She was pondering, one morning, with some rueful apprehensiveness, this possibility of her having gone too far, when her heart was reassured by the sound of a footstep that was familiar to her, coming up the gravel outside.
Then she smiled to herself, with a little composed preening of neck-ribbons; for, after all, the incense of courtship was grateful to her nostrils—and her brother was not at home.
He—that same suitor—came in like a man set on a serious purpose; and secretly her heart moved with admiration of, but no submission to, his masterfulness.
He walked straight up to her, to where she had risen from her seat by the fire, and answered her graceful greeting with little more than a bow.
“Madam,” he said, “I must crave your permission to speak, though I may imperil my prospects through precipitancy.”
She smiled, her pulses drumming thickly.
“A formidable overture,” she said—and for the life of her could get no further.
“I do not wish it to be,” said the gentleman. “If any misconception of my position makes me appear to assume a manner of truculency, I do myself an injustice, believe me.”
Her lips moved, but no word came from them.
“I am aware,” he went on, “that the apparent invidiousness of my position amongst you here may stand, and rightly, as an insuperable barrier to any addresses I may presume to submit to your consideration.”