Clare laughed more uneasily still.
“He has been saying something that startled me. The fact is that he—well, he thinks that I—that he—I should rather say that we, he and I, would complete the book more satisfactorily if we were—You see, Agnes dear, he does not like coming here so frequently; he feels that he is trespassing upon your patience.”
“He is wrong, then,” said Agnes. “But what is the alternative that he proposes?”
“He thinks that we should get married at once and go to the Court together,” replied Clare, in a low voice.
“And what do you say to that proposal?”
“Well, you know, dearest Agnes, it is not six months since my dear mother's death: still—ah, dear, would she not wish to see me happy?”
“Yes; but is that saying that she would wish to see you married?”
“He is coming to talk to you about it after dinner to-night.”
Clare spoke quietly as she rose from her seat and left the room.
He came very late. Agnes only was in the drawing-room, for Clare had gone to her studio after dinner, saying she wished to finish one of the pictures.