“Guy had to go to Waynflete? My aunt sent for him?”
“So it appeared. Did you come here to look for him—so late?”
Godfrey stood still, confused and unable to put two and two together so as to see what had taken place. He had posted some letters for his aunt yesterday, in his careless preoccupation, half an hour too late, and to-day he had had a telegram from Guy.
“Constancy!” he cried, “I see, think, feel, no one but you. I was determined that Guy should not spoil my one chance of a last word with you.”
“But what made you suppose your brother was here?” interrupted Constancy.
“He sent a telegram about a trap—at Kirk Hinton. I tore it up. I wasn’t going to let him interfere with my last word with you. He might get a trap for himself.”
“And you didn’t send it? Then you had better go after him as quick as you can; Mrs Waynflete wanted him, and I wouldn’t have her disappointed for the world. Is she ill, dear old lady? Why did you come away? And oh, if I was your brother, wouldn’t I give it you when you got home again!”
Cosy stood up by the mantelpiece. Her eyes glittered mischievously. She enjoyed seeing Godfrey out of countenance.
But Godfrey, after the first moment of surprise, felt nothing but that he was with her and alone. He came close up to her, and stood towering over her.
“Constancy, I’d do a good deal more than that to buy this five minutes. Won’t you give me a little hope? You’ll never have another fellow give himself, heart and soul and body, to you as I do. I love you.”