He lowered his eyes, suddenly disheartened. "I only ask you to believe that I am desperately in earnest."
"I cannot comprehend how—I mean, it is so very wonderful. You don't think me unappreciative, or mean, do you?"
"Of course not. You are startled, that's all. I'm a blundering fool. Still, you must agree that I was frightfully bowled over when I found that you were not what I thought. I couldn't hold back, that's all. By Jove, isn't it wonderful? Here I've been looking all over the world for you, only to find that you've been living around the corner from me all these years! It's positively staggering! Why," with a sudden burst of his unquenchable buoyancy, "we might have been married two years ago and saved all this trouble. Just think of it!"
She smiled. "I do like you," she said warmly, giving him her hand. He kissed it gallantly and stepped back—resolutely.
"That's something," he said with his humblest, most conquering smile.
"You won't leave me to my fate because you think I'm going to marry—some one else?"
He grew very sober. "Miss Tullis, you and I have one chance in a thousand. You may as well know the truth."
"Oh, I can't bear the thought of that dreadful old man," she cried, abject distress in her eyes.
He gritted his teeth and turned away. She went back to the corner, dully rearranging the coat he had given her for comfort. She handled it with a tenderness that would have astonished the garment had it been capable of understanding. For a long time she watched him in silence as he paced to and fro like a caged lion. Twice she heard him mutter: "An American girl—good Lord," and she found herself smiling to herself—the strange, vagrant smile that comes of wonder and self-gratification.
Late in the afternoon—long hours in which they had spoken to each other with curious infrequency, each a prey to sombre thoughts—their door was unlocked and Anna Cromer appeared before them, accompanied by two of the men. Crisply she commanded the girl to come forth; she wanted to talk with her.