“I am listening,” he said hoarsely; but she did not notice it in her excitement.
There was a minute’s pause, during which the Rev. Arthur broke off the young vine-shoot by accident, and then stood trying to replace it again.
At last Miss Rosebury spoke.
“Arthur,” she said—and her brother started and seemed to shiver, though she saw it not—“Arthur, Henry Bolter has asked me to be his wife!”
The Reverend Arthur turned round now in his astonishment, with his face deadly white and the tiny beads of perspiration upon his forehead. “Asked you to be his wife?” he said. “Yes, dear.”
“I am astonished,” cried the Reverend Arthur. “No, I am not,” he added thoughtfully. “He seemed to like you very much, Mary.”
“And I like him very much, Arthur, for I think him a truly good, amiable, earnest man.”
“He is my dear Mary—he is indeed; but—but—”
“But what, Arthur? Were you going to say that you could not spare me?”
“I—I hardly know what I was about to say, Mary, you took me so by surprise. It would be very strange, though, to be here without you.”