“Expose myself to another refusal, perhaps?”
Mrs. Fairfax, learning now for the first time that he had actually proposed to Marian, looked at him for some moments in silence with a smile which was assumed to cover her surprise. He thought it expressed incredulity at the idea of his being refused again.
“Are you sure?” he began, speaking courteously to her for the first time. “May I rely upon the accuracy of your impressions on this subject? I know you are incapable of trifling in a matter which might expose me to humiliation; but can you give me any guarantee—any—”
“Certainly not, Mr. Douglas. I am really sorry that I cannot give you a written undertaking that your suit shall succeed: perhaps that might encourage you to brave the scorn of a poor child who adores you. But if you need so much encouragement, I fear you do not greatly relish the prospect of success. Doubtless it has already struck her that since you found absence from her very bearable for two years, and have avoided meeting her on your return, her society cannot be very important to your happiness.”
“But it was her own fault. If she accuses me of having gone away to enjoy myself, her thoughts are a bitter sarcasm on the truth.”
“Granted that it was her own fault, if you please. But surely you have punished her enough by your long seclusion, and can afford to shew a tardy magnanimity by this time. There she is, I think, just come in at the door on the left. My sight is so wretched. Is it not she?”
“Yes.”
“Then let us get up and speak to her. Come.”
“You must excuse me, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I have distinctly given her my word that I will not intrude upon her again.”
“Dont be so foolish.”