“Yes, papa,” said Claude gravely; and she moved toward the door, which Glyddyr had hurried to open, fixing his eyes upon her in a dreamy, pleading way as she went out, and making her catch Mary’s arm nervously as soon as they were alone.
“Mary, dear,” she said excitedly, “if it were not for papa’s health, I should run away to aunt’s, and stay there. This man seems so persistent, and his quiet way thoroughly frightens me.”
“Sapping and mining, instead of bold assault,” said Mary.
“Shall I ever be such a coward as to consent?”
“Bah! How do we know what may not happen long before it is time to be obliged to say yes.”
“Nothing seems likely to happen to set aside my father’s wishes,” sighed Claude.
“Ah, you don’t know. It is the unexpected which they say always happens. So we are to sing to-night?”
“Yes. Is anything the matter with you, Mary, dear?”
“With me?” was the reply, with a forced laugh. “How absurd, dear. No, of course not; nothing. Why, Claude, you are making your great eyes look goggles. You don’t think I have done anything, do you?”
“I don’t think you can be well, Mary, dear,” said Claude, taking her hand and kissing her brow; “why, your hands are cold and your forehead quite hot.”