More than ever did she expect one of his kind remonstrances, and she looked up at him in expectation, and ready for defence, but his broad, sunburnt countenance looked marvellously heated, and he paused ere he spoke.
‘I find I can’t spare you, Honora; you had better stay at the Holt for good.’ Her cheeks flamed, and her heart galloped, but she could not let herself understand.
‘Honor, you are old enough now, and I do not think you need fear. It is almost your home already, and I believe I can make you happy, with the blessing of God—’ He paused, but as she could not frame an answer in her consternation, continued, ‘Perhaps I should not have spoken so suddenly, but I thought you would not mind me; I should like to have had one word from my little Honor before I go to your father, but don’t if you had rather not.’
‘Oh, don’t go to papa, please don’t,’ she cried, ‘it would only make him sorry.’
Humfrey stood as if under an unexpected shock.
‘Oh! how came you to think of it?’ she said in her distress; ‘I never did, and it can never be—I am so sorry!’
‘Very well, my dear, do not grieve about it,’ said Humfrey, only bent on soothing her; ‘I dare say you are quite right, you
are used to people in London much more suitable to you than a stupid homely fellow like me, and it was a foolish fancy to think it might be otherwise. Don’t cry, Honor dear, I can’t bear that!’
‘Oh, Humfrey, only understand, please! You are the very dearest person in the world to me after papa and mamma; and as to fine London people, oh no, indeed! But—’