Evereld’s heart sank.
“Mr. Wylie has told of his proposal to me,” she reflected. “And Sir Matthew is vexed with me for refusing his friend.”
“Sit down,” said Sir Matthew, motioning her to a sofa beside the window, and wheeling up a ponderous armchair for himself. “I have, of course, heard from Mr. Wylie of your very surprising behaviour yesterday. Are you aware that you have refused one of the best and cleverest of men, a man too who has been encouraged by you for the last month.”
“Oh, no,” cried Evereld. “Indeed I never dreamt of encouraging him. How could I be supposed to think of a man thirty years older than I am as a lover?”
“I don’t know what you thought about it, my dear, but you did distinctly encourage him. And everyone here, and at Zermatt, too, I believe, considered it a case.”
“I am very sorry if they thought so, but it was a ridiculous mistake. I should never dream of marrying Mr. Wylie. He is just a friend and nothing more.”
“I have no patience with this foolish talk about friends,” said Sir Matthew. “You ought to know enough of the world to realise that it never puts faith in friendships between men and women.”
“Can I not be friends with an elderly man like that? a man of nearly fifty, who has known me since I was a child?” said Evereld questioningly.
“No, you cannot,” said Sir Matthew decidedly. “You have encouraged him all these weeks, and you must marry him.”
The tone of decision would, he thought, at once silence this gentle little girl with her innocent blue eyes. He received an uncomfortable shock when she quietly replied: “Of course, if it is really so I can avoid Mr. Wylie in future. But marry him I will not.”