"Do you entertain regard and affection for me, Kate?" said he; "do you value my good opinion and consider me as your dearest and best friend?"
"Of course I do, John," was my reply. "Haven't we known each other from childhood, and are you not like a brother to me?"
John's face fell a little and his voice shook as he spoke. "Am I never to be more than a brother to you—never to obtain a greater interest in you, a larger share of your regard than I have now? Listen to me, Kate; I have something to tell you, and I can put it off no longer. This delay, this uncertainty day by day, I do believe will drive me mad. Kate, I promised Aunt Deborah faithfully that I would never enter on this subject till you came of age, and you know by your father's will you don't come of age till you're five-and-twenty. 'By that time, John,' said my aunt, 'Kate will have seen plenty of others, and be old enough to know her own mind. If she takes you then, she takes you with her eyes open, and she won't get tired of you and find out she likes some one else better. Promise me, John, that you'll wait till then.' And I did promise, Kate; but I can't keep my word—I can't wait in this state of anxiety and uncertainty, and perhaps lose you after all. It's too great a stake to play for if one is to be kept so long in suspense, and I have resolved to be put out of my pain one way or the other."
John paused. I had never seen him so excited before. He was quite hot, though the night was keen and frosty; his arm trembled as mine leant upon it; and though his cigar was gone out, he kept puffing away, utterly unconscious of the fact. He seemed to expect an answer. I hesitated; I did not know what to reply. I had got so accustomed to Cousin John that I never looked upon him in any other light than that of a favourite brother, a constant companion and friend. Moreover, I was not prepared to take any such decisive step as that to which he now seemed to be urging me. There is a great difference between liking people and giving them power of life and death over one for the rest of one's days. I will not say that the image of another did not rise before me in all its winning beauty as I had seen it last, scarcely one short week ago. Altogether I did not know what to say; so I wisely said nothing, but walked on, looking straight before me, with an uncomfortable feeling that I was driven into a corner, and should ere long be compelled to do that which is always distasteful to our liberty-loving sex—namely, to "make up my mind."
John too walked on for a few paces in silence. We were at the corner of Lowndes Street. There was not a soul to be seen but our two selves. All at once he stopped short under the light of a lamp and looked me full in the face.
"Kate," said he, in a grave, deliberate voice, "you know what I mean—Yes or No?"
I shook like a leaf. What would I have given to have been able to take counsel of one of my own sex—Mrs. Lumley, Aunt Deborah, or even cold, pitiless Lady Horsingham! But I had to choose for myself. I felt that the turning-point of my destiny had arrived—that the game was in my own hand, and that now I ought to decide one way or the other. I shrank from the responsibility. Like a very woman, I adopted a middle course.
"Give me time, John," I pleaded—"give me time to weigh matters over in my own mind. This is an affair that equally concerns the happiness of each of us. Do not let us decide in a hurry. Aunt Deborah was quite right: her wishes ought to be my law. When I am five-and-twenty it will be soon enough to enter on this subject again. In the interval, believe me, John, I have the greatest regard and esteem for you."
"Nothing more, Kate," said John, looking as if he didn't know whether he was pleased or annoyed—"nothing but esteem?"
"Well, I mustn't say any more," was my reply; "but you know you have that."