She knelt down by the chair.
They were alone; and the tears trembled on her eyelids.
“You know that I can never repay a tenth part of your goodness to me,” she said, with deepest feeling. “All my life, Mr. Fenton, I shall pray that—even yet—you may be happy. Without your training I could have done nothing, and your introduction—”
“No, no. That was all overshadowed by your meeting with Keene in the train. He loved you at first sight—I know all about it, my child. And yet there is a cloud between you. He is very attractive to women—surely you are not insensible to his affection and admiration? Tell me what is the matter. I am old enough to be your father, and, moreover, I have one foot in the grave and the other hovering on the brink. I believe that you do care for him with all your strength,” he added, putting one hand on her arm, gently, and lifting her face.
“Yes,” she said, suddenly, “I do, Mr. Fenton. How could I help it? He was so kind, so thoughtful, so generous; and, when I found that he knew you so well, it was not like speaking to a stranger.”
“And so, sweetheart, you will not visit my father’s sin upon me? I hoped that Fenton would persuade you. Indeed,” laughing, and turning her face up to his, “I am strongly of opinion that he is first with you. I have got his promise that he will live with us; so that his last years will be happier than the past ten have been. And the child loves you. Are you pleased, my darling?”
She put her arms round his neck, and, for the first time, laid her mouth on his with a long passionate kiss.
If he had doubted the strength of her love before, he never did after that.
“You are perfect, Francis. Quite perfect,” she said, gravely. “If you do not commit something mortal I shall be afraid of you.”