When Miss Winwood entered the library he arose from a seat by the window, and came towards her with an anxious look of inquiry upon his countenance. He was a personable young man, and looked very well in his scarlet regimentals. He had height, and good shoulders, and a frank, open countenance, rather pale still from prolonged suffering. He carried his left arm a little stiffly, but declared himself to be in perfect health, and very ready to rejoin his regiment.
A glance at Miss Winwood’s face informed him that the anxiety occasioned by her brief note had not been misplaced. Taking her hands in a strong clasp he said urgently: “What has occurred? Elizabeth! Something terrible?”
Her lips quivered. She drew her hands away, and put one of them out to grasp a chair-back. “Oh, Edward, the worst!” she whispered.
He grew paler. “Your note alarmed me. Good God, what is it?”
Miss Winwood pressed her handkerchief to her mouth. “Lord Rule was with Mama yesterday—in this very room.” She raised her eyes imploringly to his face. “Edward, it is all at an end. Lord Rule has offered for my hand.”
A dreadful stillness fell in the shadowed room. Miss Winwood stood with bowed head before Mr Heron, leaning a little on the chair-back.
Mr Heron did not move, but presently he said rather hoarsely: “And you said—?” But it was hardly a question; he spoke it mechanically, knowing what she must have said.
She made a hopeless gesture—“What can I say? You know so well how it is with us.”
He took a step away from her, and began to pace up and down the room. “Rule!” he said. “Is he very rich?”
“Very rich,” replied Elizabeth desolately.