“And it would be ruin and disgrace—”
“Yes,” she said, for I had stopped—“ruin and disgrace—”
“To his poor child?”
“Hetty?”
“Yes: to the tender-hearted little girl whose bright face is the only sunny spot in that time of sorrow. I don’t know,” I said passionately, “I may be wrong. I may see her now, and the fancy be driven away, but I feel as if I love little Hetty Blakeford with all my heart.”
There was silence in the little drawing-room, where all was in shadow, while in the larger well-lighted room the others talked in a low voice, and as I glanced there once, and saw Linny Hallett gazing up in Tom Girtley’s face, I wondered whether Hetty Blakeford would ever look as tenderly in mine.
It was a passing fancy, and I was brought back to the present by feeling Miss Carr’s warm lips brush my cheek.
“We will wait and see, Antony,” she said gravely. “Miss Blakeford’s feelings must be spared.”