“Oh, no,” cried Lady Fanny, happy enough to jest once more, “I forbid your growing more retiring. Go on, please, go on; never mind the failures. I dare say your letter of acceptance was as full of apologies as if you were a fraud.”
“I—I—” he became nervous again, but recovered himself. “I have refused.”
“Refused!” Her voice was tragic.
“I could do nothing else.”
“Why, why? What possessed you!”
“There was another.”
“Another? What other?” She grew ashamed of her eagerness, and sat back in her chair trying to look unconcerned. “Of course I have no right to ask.”
This roused him. He looked at her like a man who had been struck. “You are the one, the only person—forgive me, I don’t know what I am saving.”
She looked away. “If you were kindly to explain what you have done, and why?”
“Yes, yes, I came here to do so. When—when I had seen you on Monday night, I thought—I fancied—yes, I determined to accept the offer. There seemed no reason against it, except the doubt whether I should not be filling the place of another man who would be better fitted. But—one may carry that fear too far—”