"And one of them is that Lord Wyverton is too fond of larking to be considered seriously at any time?" he questioned.
She did not answer. He stood and watched her speculatively.
"And so you won't have anything to say to me?" he said at last. "In fact, you don't like me?"
She glanced at him with grey eyes that seemed to plead for mercy. "Yes, I like you," she said, slowly. "But—"
"Never mind the 'but,'" said Wyverton, quietly. "Will you marry me?"
She turned fully round again and faced him. He saw that she was very pale.
"Do you mean it?" she said. "Do you?"
He frowned at her, though his eyes remained quizzical and kindly. "Don't be frightened," he said. "Yes; I am actually in earnest. I want you."
She stiffened at the words and grew paler still; but she said nothing.
It was Wyverton who broke the silence. There was something about her that made him uneasy.