Lord Neville frowned slightly as he thought of the speech his uncle had addressed to him after dinner on his first night at the Towers, and she saw the frown and sighed.
“The sacrifice would be greater even than I thought,” she said. “Is it not so? I—yes, I am so ignorant of the world. I know nothing about it, excepting what I have learned from books and plays——”
“Don’t say another word!” he broke in, almost grimly in his earnestness. “Every word you say makes me ashamed! Do you think I set anything in the scales against your love? The marquis may say and do what he pleases; he may curse or bless me, and it won’t make any difference! All the same—I mention it for your sake, and not my own, you seem so afraid, my darling; he can’t rob me of the title, and if he could I would surrender it rather than lose you. Lose you!” he exclaimed, with his short laugh. “Look here, Doris, I’d rather be your husband, and—and sweep a crossing, than marry another woman and be the future King of England! That sounds rather high and lofty, doesn’t it? But I’m rather bad at expressing myself, and it’s as near as I can get to my meaning!”
“It is near enough,” she said, with a smile, her heart giving a little leap at his ardent, manly avowal.
“And that’s enough of the marquis,” he said. “We’ve forgotten quite as important a person, it seems to me. Your guardian, Doris!”
She started slightly.
“Jeffrey!” she murmured. “Ah, yes!”
“Yes,” said Lord Neville. “Now, I value his goodwill quite as much as I do my uncle’s, and I don’t feel at all sure that I shall get it. You see, with all deference to you, sweetheart——”
Sweetheart! She whispered the word to herself and glowed over it.
“I’m not, in all points, the very best kind of young man for a husband, and your guardian is very likely to remark it. What if he should refuse his consent?”