“To marry him! And you are going to?”
She hesitated.
“I haven’t given him any answer yet.”
“Of course I know I have no right to ask.”
He was trembling, and trying hard to speak in a quiet and cool tone. He was conscious that, if his suspicions of her were well founded, there was nothing in the least extraordinary in her marrying the swaggering American, who, for that matter, was certainly what would have been called a good match, since he was the son of a rich man.
But the puzzle of the matter was that, knowing all that he knew, and suspecting all that he suspected, Gerard felt that she was too good to throw herself away upon this fellow, whom he believed to be guilty of winning money from his guests, at least by dint of superior skill with the cards, if not by something less creditable.
Away from her he might and did believe in the possibility of her complicity in crime; when in her presence he felt again that she was incapable of anything dishonorable or criminal.
Rachel drew a soft little sigh, which disarmed him completely. If he had thought her capable of deceit, of guilt a moment before, that sigh made him feel ashamed of such thoughts. He turned to her quickly. They were in a dark part of the gardens, where, standing beside her, with his face away from the light, he could speak at his ease.
“Rachel,” he said, “I don’t believe you care for this fellow; I don’t believe you would marry him. Will you marry me?”
As had happened more than once before, the sudden betrayal of his tenderness softened and unnerved her.