“I want you to promise me something, Mr Glanton, will you?” Miss Sewin said, when dusk and the lateness of the hour had put an end to what was to me one of the most delightful half hours I ever remember spending, for we had spent it alone, she chatting in that free and natural manner of hers, I agreeing with everything, as the entrancement of listening to her voice and watching her grace of movement wound itself more and more around me.
“I think I may safely promise you anything, Miss Sewin,” I answered. “Well? What is it?”
“I want you to promise me not to quarrel with my cousin—no matter how rude and provoking he may be.”
“Is that all? Why of course I will.”
“Ah but—you may not find it so easy,” she went on, speaking earnestly, and her wide open glance full on my face. “I have been noticing his behaviour towards you of late, and admiring your forbearance. But as a personal favour to myself, don’t quarrel with him.”
“Oh, I still think that’ll be an easy promise to keep,” I said; and yet, the very fact that she was so anxious on the subject seemed to make the other way. Why was she?
She shook her head slightly and smiled, as though reading my thoughts.
“You see, we are all so friendly together, are we not?” she said. “And a man of your experience and good sense can afford to put up with a good deal from a mere boy who hasn’t much of either.”
“Why of course,” I answered easily, and reassured by her tactful explanation. Yet—was Falkner such “a mere boy” after all?