‘To look at a living?’
‘To look at you. If I had found you pining and oppressed, I had thought of asking if you could put up with your father’s old friend.’
She looked with eyes of wonder, drew her arm away, and stood still, partly bewildered. ‘You didn’t?’ she said, half in interrogation.
‘I saw my mistake; you were too young and gay. But, Cilla,’ he added, more tremulously, ‘if you do wish for a home—’
‘Don’t, don’t!’ she cried; ‘I can’t have you talk as if I only wanted a home!’
‘And indeed I have none as yet,’ he said. ‘But do you indeed mean that you could think of it?’—and he came nearer.
‘It! Nonsense! Of you!’ she vehemently exclaimed. ‘How could you think of anything else?’
‘Cilla,’ he said, in great agitation, ‘let me know what you are saying. Don’t drive me crazy when it is not in the nature of things you should mean it!’
‘Why not?’ asked Lucilla. ‘It is only too good for me.’
‘Is it true, then?’ he said, as he took both her hands in his. ‘Is it true that you understand me, and are willing to be—to be my own—darling charge?’