“Your mother?” she whispered.
Nicholas nodded.
“I want you to take her place. . . . You see, I’m—I’m not married, darling.” Susan started violently, and the man set a hand on her shoulder. “I’m—I’m not that Kilmuir.”
“O-o-oh!”
For a moment she stared at him wildly. Then she closed her eyes, let her head fall and buried her face in her hands.
Nicholas continued steadily.
“It isn’t much to offer—a share in my lonely life. But it won’t be lonely any more if you’ll accept it. I never thought I should marry. I never thought I’ld find anyone I’ld care to see in her place. And then . . . at last . . . I saw you. . . . And the moment I saw you, I knew . . . I’m poor, you know, but if you’d been worth twenty millions, I’ld ’ve asked you to be my wife. You see, I love you, my lady: and so I can’t help myself. I love your beautiful temples and the droop of your precious lips: I love your grave grey eyes and your sweet pretty ways . . .” He hesitated. Then, “I warn you, I won’t be able to give you much of a time. I can’t even afford a car, Susan. At least, I haven’t been able to yet. But I think, if we were careful, perhaps . . .” He took her wrists and drew her hands from her face. She continued to hang her head. “Oh, my blessed lady, I want you so much: and, as you don’t mind the cold and the quiet, don’t you think you could——”
“Noblesse oblige,” wailed the girl. “Noblesse oblige.”
“Oh, you darling,” cried Nicholas, lifting her to her feet.
Susan flung up her head and stared at the face of her squire three inches away.