"That's it," said Guy, seizing his opportunity. "You need some one by your side who knows how to manage an estate. Dear Aldyth, I wish you would let me help you."
"You do help me, Guy," she said, puzzled by his manner, but yet far from seeing his drift; "you are very good to help me as you do."
"Ah, but I could be so much more to you, if you would let me," he said, and now his voice took a tender tone which roused her to a sense of danger; "if only you would let share all your burdens and cares; if you would let things be as uncle always meant them to be."
Considering the circumstances of the case, Guy certainly expressed himself with much cleverness, and showed what imaginative language even commonplace minds can command under sufficient stimulus. But the effect of his words was not such as he desired.
Aldyth started up, a flush of anger on her cheek. "Guy, I cannot think what you mean by speaking in such a way!"
"Oh yes, you must know," he said. "I told you before that I loved you." He paused, checked by the scorn he read in her glance.
"I should think that would be a reason for not saying it again," she replied in cold, clear tones, which had an edge of contempt. "If I remember rightly, I made you aware then how I regarded your professions, and you cannot surely imagine that, after all that has happened, and Hilda Bland being my friend, I should regard them otherwise now, especially as—excuse me, Guy, the motive is so evident."
Guy looked down, and his face flushed, but he said doggedly—
"You may say what you like, but I think you owe something to me. You forget that what has happened makes a great difference to me."
"No, I do not forget it," said Aldyth, warmly; "I cannot forget it; I am oppressed by the knowledge that it is so. I would set matters right between us at once, if I knew how."