"It is impossible," she said, shortly, in broken tones. But the squire was prepared for some difficulties.
"I do not see the impossibility," he said quite calmly. "Of course,
I would not press you for an answer, my dear Mrs. Goddard. I am afraid
I have been very abrupt, but I will go away, I will leave you to
consider—"
"Oh no, no!" cried the poor lady in great distress. "It is quite impossible—I assure you it is quite, quite impossible!"
"I don't know," said Mr. Juxon, who saw that she was deeply moved, but was loath to abandon the field without a further struggle. "I am not a very young man, it is true—but I am not a very old one either. You, my dear Mrs. Goddard, have been a widow for some years—"
"I?" cried Mrs. Goddard with a wild hysterical laugh. "I! Oh God of mercy! I wish I were." Again she buried her face in the cushion. Her bosom heaved violently.
The squire started as though he had been struck, and the blood rushed to his brown face so that the great veins on his temples stood out like cords.
"Did I—did I understand you to say that—your husband is living?" he asked in a strong, loud voice, ringing with emotion.
Mrs. Goddard moved a little and seemed to make a great effort to speak.
"Yes," she said very faintly. The squire rose to his feet and paced the room in terrible agitation.
"But where?" he asked, stopping suddenly in his walk. "Mrs. Goddard, I think I have a right to ask where he is—why you have never spoken of him?"