“Of course, you think I am speaking from a selfish motive. But I am not. I gave up all hopes of you as soon as I knew that Rees was coming back.”
“And devoted your attentions to the second Miss Brownlow?” asked Deborah, rather archly.
“No, that was all nonsense. I never spoke to the girl in my life, except to offer her a cup of tea,” said Godwin, despondently.
“Didn’t you?” asked Deborah slowly.
“No. Unlucky beggar that I am, I never can look at any other woman but you, except to find fault with her. I suppose it will be different when you are married. I hope so.”
“And I hope not,” said Deborah, laughing gaily.
Godwin looked at her with a rather puzzled expression.
“Don’t you remember telling me,” said she, saucily, “that a woman was always sorry to lose an admirer? How much more must this be the case, then, when that admirer is her own husband!”
Godwin stared at her in bewilderment. Deborah looked across at the castle.
“What on earth do you mean?” asked he, at last, slowly.