“As a friend of Mr Clive Reed, under the present circumstances, surely, sir, it is better not,” she replied with dignity.
“Sir—under the present circumstances,” he cried bitterly. “The old story. Blackguard again. Ah,” he said, with a stamp of the foot, “is that man to go through the whole of his life spreading malicious slanders about his brother?”
Dinah was silent.
“Then you will not shake hands with one who spared no effort to get himself appointed to stay down here—whose sole thought has been of her whom he met once—only once—but whose impression was fixed so deeply upon his heart that ever since he has thought of her night and day.”
Dinah rose and drew back into the doorway, looking at him with contempt.
“Is this part of some melodrama, Mr Jessop Reed?” she said, “or do you imagine that you are speaking to a weak rustic girl?”
“I am speaking the truth—blunderingly, perhaps,” he cried excitedly, “but in the best way I can. I wonder that I am not dumb before you. How can you be so cruel. You must have seen how you impressed me when I was down here before. That feeling has grown into an overpowering passion. Dinah Gurdon,” he cried, catching her hand, “I came down hereto live—to love you. I cannot help it.”
“And you know that I am your brother’s betrothed,” she said wildly.
“I know that without doubt he has taken advantage of his position here to try and delude you, as he has deluded other poor girls again and again; but you must know the truth. He is not fit to touch your hand—no, not even to stand in your presence. Hush! let me speak. I know all this is cruelly sudden, but you would forgive me if you knew what I have suffered since I saw you last. Dinah, dearest Dinah, give me some little ray of hope to take away with me. You are too beautiful to be cruel—too gentle to send me away despairing. Ah, you are relenting! A word only, and I will go away patiently, and ready to wait till you know me better.”
“I never could know you better than I do at present,” said Dinah firmly, and quietly withdrawing her hand.