He wrung her hand, and his face was deadly white as he turned to enter the house by a side door. An hour later he was gone. No one but Mrs. Courtly saw him, and that discreet friend announced at luncheon that Quintin Ferrars had been called suddenly and unexpectedly away.
In the meantime the other two had been walking in the fir-wood for the best part of an hour. If we take up their dialogue during the last ten minutes we shall sufficiently understand what preceded it.
"You say you like no one else?—that there is no other fellow you'd sooner marry?"
"No, there is none. I like you better than Lord Grantham, though I really liked him very much, and better than any one else who has proposed to me in London or New York. I like you awfully, I really do. But to marry—Oh! I think a man takes a deal of knowing before one can make up one's mind to marry him."
"Haven't we had exceptional opportunities here of knowing each other? Far better, I'm sure, than if we had spent a season in London or a winter in New York together! I feel I know your bright, sweet nature thoroughly, and—"
"Oh! but you don't. I am ever so full of contradictions. As fast as ever you get hold of one thing, you'll find there's something else quite contrary. I wish a thing, and I don't wish it. Sometimes I fancy I should like to marry an Englishman, and then again I think I should prefer living in my own country. I am not sure about anything, you see, yet, and therefore I mean to go around for quite a time, and feel certain before I settle down."
"I want you to feel certain. But if in six months you don't change your mind—"
"But I have not made up my mind! If I had, I should not feel like changing it in six months. I am changeable now, but I don't mean to be so by and by. When I was in England, of course I had quite a number of proposals; but, except for Lord Grantham—I think he really did like me—I felt pretty sure they only wanted to marry me because they heard papa was rich and I was his only child, and that wasn't good enough for me."
"I should think not! I'd marry you gladly if you hadn't a penny—try me. Tell your father not to settle a dollar on you. Men in business—Americans especially, I believe—are not fond of making settlements. I'm not rich, but I've quite enough for us to live on."
"Oh! that is not it. I think I can tell when a man is pretending. And I am sure you are not pretending. All the same," she added, with an arch smile, "I expect your heart would recover if you were told you were never to see me again, though you might feel pretty badly at first."