"Could you love her as your daughter? Will you try? Will you give me the right of introducing you to her as her future mother; as my wife?"
There! he had done it—whether it was wise or foolish—he had done it! but he was aware that the question as to its wisdom came into his mind the instant that the words were said past recall.
She hid her face in her hands.
"Oh! Mr. Gibson," she said; and then, a little to his surprise, and a great deal to her own, she burst into hysterical tears: it was such a wonderful relief to feel that she need not struggle any more for a livelihood.
"My dear—my dearest," said he, trying to soothe her with word and caress; but, just at the moment, uncertain what name he ought to use. After her sobbing had abated a little, she said herself, as if understanding his difficulty,—
"Call me Hyacinth—your own Hyacinth. I can't bear 'Clare,' it does so remind me of being a governess, and those days are all past now."
"Yes; but surely no one can have been more valued, more beloved than you have been in this family at least."
"Oh, yes! they have been very good. But still one has always had to remember one's position."
"We ought to tell Lady Cumnor," said he, thinking, perhaps, more of the various duties which lay before him in consequence of the step he had just taken, than of what his future bride was saying.
"You'll tell her, won't you?" said she, looking up in his face with beseeching eyes. "I always like other people to tell her things, and then I can see how she takes them."