So you see under what excitement Mr. Brumley came down to Black Strand.
Luck was with him at first and he forced the defence with ridiculous ease.
“Lady Harman, sir, is not a Tome,” said Snagsby.
“Ah!” said Mr. Brumley, with all the assurance of a former proprietor, “then I’ll just have a look round the garden,” and was through the green door in the wall and round the barn end before Snagsby’s mind could function. That unfortunate man went as far as the green door in pursuit and then with a gesture of despair retreated to the pantry and began cleaning all his silver to calm his agonized spirit. He could pretend perhaps that Mr. Brumley had never rung at the front door at all. If not——
Moreover Mr. Brumley had the good fortune to find Lady Harman quite unattended and pensive upon the little seat that Euphemia had placed for the better seeing of her herbaceous borders.
“Lady Harman!” he said rather breathlessly, taking both her hands with an unwonted assurance and then sitting down beside her, “I am so glad to see you. I came down to see you—to see if I couldn’t be of any service to you.”
“It’s so kind of you to come,” she said, and her dark eyes said as much or more. She glanced round and he too glanced round for Sir Isaac.
“You see,” he said. “I don’t know.... I don’t want to be impertinent.... But I feel—if I can be of any service to you.... I feel perhaps you want help here. I don’t want to seem to be taking advantage of a situation. Or making unwarrantable assumptions. But I want to assure you—I would willingly die—if only I could do anything.... Ever since I first saw you.”
He said all this in a distracted way, with his eyes going about the garden for the possible apparition of Sir Isaac, and all the time his sense of possible observers made him assume an attitude as though he was engaged in the smallest of small talk. Her colour quickened at the import of his words, and emotion, very rich and abundant emotion, its various factors not altogether untouched perhaps by the spirit of laughter, lit her eyes. She doubted a little what he was saying and yet she had anticipated that somehow, some day, in quite other circumstances, Mr. Brumley might break into some such strain.
“You see,” he went on with a quality of appeal in his eyes, “there’s so little time to say things—without possible interruption. I feel you are in difficulties and I want to make you understand——We——Every beautiful woman, I suppose, has a sort of right to a certain sort of man. I want to tell you—I’m not really presuming to make love to you—but I want to tell you I am altogether yours, altogether at your service. I’ve had sleepless nights. All this time I’ve been thinking about you. I’m quite clear, I haven’t a doubt, I’ll do anything for you, without reward, without return, I’ll be your devoted brother, anything, if only you’ll make use of me....”