"Good God!" said Haverford. "Do you suppose that I want to buy you?"
"I don't suppose anything," said Caroline, "except that I thank you very much for your offer; and I decline it."
He let her walk on, and stood looking after her bewildered and pained. She had grown so closely into his thoughts of late, she had become so individualized with all his new schemes for the future, she was so necessary, so dear, so precious (especially since he had learned how he had misjudged her, and Mrs. Brenton had lost very little time in making him acquainted with this) that he could hardly realize that she had turned so deliberately away from him.
He made no effort to follow her, however; there had been something authoritative in her voice and in her manner—something that stung him almost reproachfully. But his chief sensation was a rueful realization of failure.
"I am a vain, clumsy fool!" he said to himself, with a vast amount of irritation.
And after he had walked about for some considerable time, and had pondered the situation carefully, this unflattering estimate of himself strengthened.
If he could have comfortably taken himself away from Yelverton he would have done so; but as he had proposed himself for this visit it would have been difficult to have found a tangible reason for ending it in so abrupt a fashion.
The quiet, comfortable influence of the house, and particularly the presence of the children, worked pleasantly on his troubled mood, however, and at dinner-time he sat chatting briskly away over his American experiences, and noting with some satisfaction (and a good deal more vexation) that the girl in the white gown on the opposite side of the table matched himself in ease of manner and flow of spirit.
"I find him wonderfully improved," said Mrs. Brenton, as she and Caroline sat having their coffee in the hall.
"Oh, he was always fairly good looking," said the girl, carelessly.