She was in the drawing-room awaiting him. She gave him her hand, certainly, but a very unpleasant glance with it. She looked cold, calm, determined. The young man regarding her could have laughed aloud, only that he felt so sad. What was the good of it all? He knew himself, and he knew the girl he loved, and—who could part them?
Over there in the window was the girl he loved, standing up bravely, with a little troubled smile upon her lips—but still a smile—and all for him. What a stout heart she had, his dear, pretty girl!
"I am glad you have come, Dr. Dillwyn," said Mrs. Greatorex.
"Agatha refused me her confidence, but I have heard from other sources of your—you must forgive me if I call them presumptuous—attentions to my niece. Of course, considering your position in life, I do not take them seriously; but such as they are, they rather prejudice her chances of making an excellent marriage."
"I am afraid you will have to take my attentions seriously," said Dillwyn, looking at her very quietly, but with purpose on his brow. "Indeed I am sure of it. I love Miss Nesbitt, and she—-" He hesitated, and Agatha, seeing his uncertainty, stepped bravely into the breach.
"Loves you!" said she, in a low, frightened, but very clear tone.
Mrs. Greatorex looked at her.
"Were all my words in vain? Have you not yet learned the meaning of modesty? Stand back, Agatha, whilst I speak."
The girl retreated a little, more from habit than anything else, and Mrs. Greatorex once more addressed Dillwyn.
"I want just an answer to one question," said she. "If you were to marry my niece, could you support her—in even such small comfort as she has been accustomed to?"