The Honourable Philippa was a good deal fluttered, but she preserved her dignity, and signed to Marie and Ruth to withdraw, the former darting a look full of meaning as she passed Marcus, who hastened to open the door, the latter glancing up at him for a moment, and he smiled back in her face, which was full of sympathy for him in his pain.
Glen closed the door in the midst of a chilling silence, and returned to his seat facing the thin sisters, feeling that the task he had undertaken was anything but the most pleasant under the sun.
He was, however, too much stirred to hesitate, and he began in so downright a manner that he completely overset the balance—already tottering—of the Honourable Isabella, who felt so sympathetic that she was affected to tears.
“I wished to have a few minutes’ conversation, ladies,” he said, in rather a quick, peremptory tone, “respecting a question very near to my heart, and concerning my future happiness. Let me say, then, plainly, in what is meant to be a manly, straightforward fashion, that I love your niece Clotilde, and I have come to ask your consent to my being a constant visitor here.”
The Honourable Isabella could not suppress it: a faint sigh struggled to her lips, and floated away upon the chilly air of that dismal room, like the precursor of the shower that trembled upon the lashes of her eyes.
“Captain Glen!” cried the Honourable Philippa, making an effort to overcome her own nervousness, and dreading a scene on the part of this downright young man, “you astound me!”
“I am very sorry I should take you so by surprise,” he said quietly. “I hoped that you would have seen what my feelings were.”
“Oh, indeed no!” cried the Honourable Philippa mendaciously, “nothing of the kind—did we, sister?”
The Honourable Isabella’s hands shook a great deal, but she did not speak—only looked piteously at their visitor.
“Perhaps I ought to have made my feelings known sooner,” said Glen. “However, I have spoken now, Miss Dymcox, and—”