“With apologies for my audacity in asking such a great favor,
“Believe me, yours sincerely,
“Nell Claris.”
Then she passed a sleepless night, torturing herself by wondering what Jem Stickels would do, and whether Clifford would come—this she did not greatly doubt—and how she should tell him if he came.
And on the following evening, just when she had given up all hope of seeing him, and just when the time appointed by Jem Stickels for her to meet him was approaching, she saw Clifford, from her seat by the open door of the sitting-room, walk into the bar.
Nell sprang up with a little cry, and Clifford, catching sight of her, flushed a deeper red than his walk had given him, and going quickly through the bar and along the passage, pushed open the door of the little sitting-room, and stood before her.
The girl had been so anxious for his coming that all her little maidenly arts of affected surprise, of indifference, of reserve, were in abeyance; and he saw before him the girl he loved, with love confessed in her blue eyes. For one moment he stood looking at her, a little awe-struck, as a lover ought to be, at discovering how much more beautiful she was than he remembered her. Then, not unnaturally taking her summons for just a little more than it was intended to be, he caught her in his arms, and pressing her against his breast, covered her face with kisses.
Nell uttered a little cry; she thought it expressed consternation, alarm; but Clifford read the sound differently, and kissed her again.
“Oh, Mr. King!” panted the girl, as soon as she could draw back her head enough to speak, “you don’t understand. I sent for you to advise me, that’s all. I—”
“I quite understood,” replied Clifford, calmly, not letting her go very far. “And I am longing to put my professional knowledge at your service. But first—”
He stopped short, arrested in the middle of his speech by a violent start on the part of Nell, who was looking with eyes full of alarm at the door which led into the garden.