“Well?”
“I was,” replied I, stammering a little—“I was going to ask you if you were blind.”
“As to what, Jacob?” said Sarah, colouring up.
“As to my feelings towards you.”
“No; I believe you like me very well,” replied she, smiling.
“Do you think that that is all?”
“Where do you dine to-day, Jacob,” replied Sarah.
“That must depend upon you and your answer. If I dine here to-day, I trust to dine here often. If I do not dine here to-day, probably I never may again. I wish to know, Sarah, whether you have been blind to my feelings towards you; for, with the case of Mary and Tom before me, I feel that I must no longer trust to my own hopes, which may end in disappointment. Will you have the kindness to put me out of my misery?”
“If I have been blind to your feelings I have not been blind to your merit, Jacob. Perhaps I have not been blind to your feelings, and I am not of the same disposition as Mary Stapleton. I think you may venture to dine here to-day,” continued she, colouring and smiling, as she turned away to the window.
“I can hardly believe that I’m to be so happy, Sarah,” replied I, agitated. “I have been fortunate, very fortunate; but the hopes you have now raised are so much beyond my expectations—so much beyond my deserts—that I dare not indulge in them. Have pity on me, and be more explicit.”