She trembled. “Yes, yes, let us say that that was all it was, if you please! I am very much obliged to you, but I cannot marry you!”
“May I know why you cannot, Miss Tallant?”
She was afraid that she was about to burst into tears, and answered in a shaken tone: “There are many reasons. Pray believe it is impossible!”
“Are you quite sure that these reasons are insuperable?” he asked.
“Quite, quite sure! Oh, please do not urge me further! I had never dreamed—it never entered my head—I would not for the world have given you cause to suppose—Oh, please say no more, sir!”
He bowed, and was silent. She sat staring down at her clasped hands in great agitation of spirit, her mind in a turmoil, tossed between surprise at such a declaration, coming from one whom she had believed to have been merely amusing himself, and the shock of realizing, for the first time, that there was no one she would rather marry than Mr. Beaumaris.
After a slight pause, he said in his usual calm way: “I believe there is always a little awkwardness attached to such situations as this in which we now find ourselves. We must strive not to allow it to overcome us. Is Lady Bridlington’s ball to rank amongst the season’s greatest squeezes?”
She was grateful to him for easing the tension, and all the discomfort of the moment, and tried to reply naturally. “Yes, indeed, it is! I am sure quite three hundred cards of invitation have been sent out. Shall—shall you find time to look in, I wonder?”
“Yes, and shall hope that even though you will not marry me you may be persuaded to dance with me.”
She replied she scarcely knew what: it was largely inaudible. He shot a quick look at her averted profile, hesitated, and then said nothing. They had reached Park Street by this time, and in another moment he had handed her down from the curricle.