“You are more than worthy of what I have to offer, which is myself, and all that I have.”
“Don’t!” I cried again; “don’t say anything more! Let us imagine this unsaid!”
“Such words can never be recalled,” he said gravely.
“They must be,” I persisted; “I cannot accept! I have nothing to give in return!”
A look of disappointment came over his face, and if I mistake not, it was shaded with displeasure. “I hardly expected this, Miss Leigh, I have hardly been led to expect this.”
“I know what you mean, Mr. Gregory,” I replied, more calmly than I had spoken before; “I know that I have accepted your attentions—you have had every reason to expect a different answer. I’ll not try to deceive you, or keep anything from you. I’ll tell you that I have not been trifling. I have understood you for some time——”
He interrupted me here.
“Yes, you must have done so; my attentions to you could have but one interpretation, if I were a man of honor, and you knew I was that.”
“I did, indeed,” I exclaimed. And then my mind went, with a flash like lightning, to Randolph Chance, and I felt a sudden resentment. Had not he shown me attentions that no man of honor can bestow upon a woman, unless he wishes to make her his wife? Why had he left me in this strait? Why had he not spoken out? Why had he not claimed before the world that which he had taken such pains to win? I was uncertain about Randolph Chance; I had never been uncertain about Mr. Gregory. Why? Because I had perfect confidence in his honor. Was he not the better man—the more trustworthy? Why could I not marry him? I loved another man. A wave of shame and anger swept my face.
“I have all along been expecting to marry you. I have not been trifling,” I cried out.