“Well, have you not seen anything?”
“Yes,” said Guest huskily.
“I felt that you must have seen it, old fellow. I have no secrets from you. I have loved her from the first time I saw her at Miss Jerrold’s, and it has gone on growing till at times I have been almost in despair. For how could I speak, poor and hard up as I was—just a student, earning two or three hundred a year?”
“Always seemed attentive enough,” said Guest, looking away as his friend paced the room with growing excitement.
“Perhaps; but I have schooled myself to hide it all, and to act as a gentleman should toward Sir Mark. It would have been dishonourable to act otherwise than as an ordinary friend of the family.”
“I suppose so,” said Guest dismally. “And now?”
“My position is changed. Poverty does not bar the way, and, feeling this, I cannot trust myself. I cannot go and meet her to-morrow evening at her aunt’s without seeing the admiral first, and speaking out to him like a man.”
“And—and—you really—care for her so much, old fellow?” said Guest hoarsely, and still in trouble with his pipe, which refused to draw.
“Care for her—so much!” exclaimed Stratton, flushing.
“And she?”