“Mrs. Spofford, I am obliged to confess to you that I have already spoken to Miss Clinton, and I may add that she is not tentatively engaged. She has promised to be my wife.”
She drew back as if struck. She was silent for many seconds.
“It would appear that my consent is not necessary, Mr. Percival,” she said at last, “Why do you come to me?”
“Because, while you may not suspect it, I was born a gentleman,” said he stiffly.
She received this with a slight nod of the head and no more.
“My niece, no doubt in her excitement, has neglected to ask you one or two very important questions,” she said levelly. “First of all, have you any means of convincing us that you do not already possess a wife?”
He started. “You are right,” he said. “That is an important question, and she has not asked it. I have no means of convincing you that I have never been married, Mrs. Spofford. My word of honour is the only thing I can offer.”
She regarded him narrowly. “Do you consider that sufficient, Mr. Percival?”
“I do,” said he simply. She waited for him to go on, and was distinctly impressed by his failure to do so. So far as he was concerned, there was nothing more to be added.
“How are we to know what your past life contains? You may have left your homeland in disgrace, you may even have been a fugitive from justice. We have no means of knowing. You were a stowaway on board the Doraine. That much, at least, we do know. We know nothing more. You are smart, you are clever. Surely you must see yourself that under other circumstances, under normal conditions, my niece would not have condescended to notice you, Mr. Percival. We are on an undiscovered island, remote from the environment, the society, the—”