“Why do you sigh?” said she, gently.
“I don't know. Yes, I do. Because I am not happy.”
“Not happy?” said she. “You ought to be; and I am sure you deserve to be.”
“I don't know that. However, I think I shall be happier in a few minutes, or else very unhappy indeed. That depends on you.”
“On me, Mr. Severne?” and she blushed crimson, and her bosom began to heave. His words led her to expect a declaration and a proposal of marriage.
He saw her mistake; and her emotion spoke so plainly and sweetly, and tried him so, that it cost him a great effort not to clasp her in his arms. But that was not his cue at present. He lowered his eyes, to give her time, and said, sadly, “I cannot help seeing that, somehow, there is suspicion in the air about me. Miss Maitland puts questions, and drops hints. Miss Dover watches me like a lynx. Even you gave me a hint the other day that I never talk to you about my relations, and my past life.”
“Pray do not confound me with other people,” said Zoe proudly. “If I am curious, it is because I know you must have done many good things and clever things; but you have too little vanity, or too much pride, to tell them even to one who—esteems you, and could appreciate.”
“I know you are as generous and noble as most people are narrow-minded,” said Severne, enthusiastically; “and I have determined to tell you all about myself.”
Zoe's cheeks beamed with gratified pride and her eyes sparkled.
“Only, as I would not tell it to anybody but you, I must stipulate that you will receive it in sacred confidence, and not repeat it to a living soul.”