“I think you are a little, Richard. And I quite see that to a person like you—for it is no use to pretend to me that you are selfish, because I know that you are nothing of the sort—to a person like you, it must seem that you are bound in honour to marry me. Now, confess! That is true, is it not? Don’t— please don’t tell me polite lies!”
“Very well,” he replied. “It is true that having embroiled you in this situation I ought in honour to offer you the protection of my name. But I am offering you my heart, Pen.”
She searched feverishly for her handkerchief, and mopped her brimming eyes with it. “Oh, I do thank you!” she said in a muffled voice. “You have such beautiful manners, sir!”
“Pen, you impossible child!” he exclaimed. “I am trying to tell you that I love you, and all you will say is that I have beautiful manners!”
“You cannot fall in love with a person in three days!” she objected.
He had taken a step towards her, but he checked himself at that. “I see.”
She gave her eyes a final wipe, and said apologetically: “I beg your pardon! I didn’t mean to cry, only I think I am a little tired, besides having had a shock on account of Piers, you know.”
Sir Richard, who had been intimately acquainted with many women, thought that he did know. “I was afraid of that,” he said. “Did you care so much, Pen?”
“No, but I thought I did, and it is all very lowering, if you understand what I mean, sir.”
“I suppose I do. I am too old for you, am I not?”