“If you would marry me, Miss Vanderpoel,” his head bending over her hand again. “I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon. Oh Lord, I do.'
“I thank you for the compliment you pay me,” she answered. “I like you very much, Sir Thomas—and I like you just now more than ever—but I could not marry you. I should not make you happy, and I should not be happy myself. The truth is——” thinking a moment, “each of us really belongs to a different kind of person. And each of knows the fact.”
“God bless you,” he said. “I think you know everything in the world a woman can know—and remain an angel.”
It was an outburst of eloquence, and she took it in the prettiest way—with the prettiest laugh, which had in it no touch of mockery or disbelief in him.
“What I have said is quite final—if Lady Alanby should inquire,” she said—adding rather quickly, “Someone is coming.”
It pleased her to see that he did not hurry to his feet clumsily, but even stood upright, with a shade of boyish dignity, and did not release her hand before he had bent his head low over it again.
Sir Nigel was bringing with him Lady Alanby, Mrs. Manners, and his wife, and when Betty met his eyes, she knew at once that he had not made his way to this particular garden without intention. He had discovered that she was with Tommy, and it had entertained him to break in upon them.
“I did not intend to interrupt Sir Thomas at his devotions,” he remarked to her after dinner. “Accept my apologies.”
“It did not matter in the least, thank you,” said Betty.
. . . . .