“I know that you have had plenty of trouble, Sir Henry,” she said in her gentle voice, “and your father’s death must have been a great blow to you. But perhaps your fog will lift, as I suppose that it does sometimes even on the coast of Newfoundland.”
“I hope so; it is time that it did,” he answered absently, and then for a minute was silent. He felt that, if he meant to propose, now was his chance, but for the life of him he could not think how to begin. It was an agonising moment, and, though the evening had turned bitterly cold, he became aware that the perspiration was running down his forehead.
“Miss Levinger,” he said suddenly, “I have something to ask you.”
“To ask me, Sir Henry? What about?”
“About about yourself. I wish to ask you if you will honour me by promising to become my wife?”
Emma heard, and, stopping suddenly in her walk, looked round as though to find a refuge, but seeing none went on again.
“Miss Levinger,” Henry continued, “I am not skilled at this sort of thing, and I hope that you will make allowances for my awkwardness. Do you think that you could care enough for me to marry me? I know very well that I have little to recommend me, and there are circumstances connected with my financial position which make it almost presumptuous that I should ask you.”
“I think, Sir Henry,” she answered, speaking for the first time, “that we may leave money matters out of the question. I have heard something of the state of affairs at Rosham, and I know that you are not responsible for it, though you are expected by others to remedy it.”
“It is very generous of you to speak like that, Miss Levinger; and it helps me out of a great difficulty, for I could not see how I was to explain all this business to you.”
“I think that it is only just, Sir Henry, not generous. Provided that there is enough on one side or the other, money is not the principal question to be considered.”