She sat quite still, and I could see that she was very nervous. She kept her eyes away from my face as much as possible. When she began to talk she did so rapidly, and in a low tone.
“I suppose you are very surprised to see me, Miss Ffolliot, after this morning,” she commenced, tentatively.
“Rather,” I answered.
“I only made up my mind to come an hour ago. It was a sudden impulse. I started at once, or I should have changed my mind. I have come to make you an offer. It will sound very oddly to you, but you must not be angry. You must hear all that I have to say. I have thought it all out; it is very reasonable.”
“You need not be afraid,” I answered. “I shall certainly not mind listening—so long as you do not talk as you were talking this morning. I am quite willing to forget that if you do not remind me of it.”
She fixed her black eyes upon me intently.
“Miss Ffolliot, have you ever loved any one—a man, I mean?”
I could not help starting, the question was so unexpected. She was watching me very keenly. Perhaps my color was not altogether steady.
“I don’t think so—not in the way you mean,” I answered.