“Will Miss Torrance go away?”
“She will,” said Torrance, with a little sigh, though there was pride in his eyes, “when the trouble’s over—but not before. She came home to see the old man through.”
Clavering seized the opportunity. “Did you ever contemplate the possibility of Miss Torrance marrying anybody here?”
“I have a notion that there’s nobody good enough,” Torrance said quickly.
Clavering nodded, though he felt the old man’s eyes upon him, and did not relish the implication. “Still, I fancy the same difficulty would be met with anywhere else, and that encourages me to ask if you would have any insuperable objections to myself?”
Torrance looked at him steadily. “I have been expecting this. Once I thought it was Miss Schuyler; but she does not like you.”
“I am sorry,” and Clavering wondered whether his host was right, “though, the latter fact is not of any great moment. I have long had a sincere respect for Miss Torrance, but I am afraid it would be difficult to tell you all I think of her.”
“The point,” said Torrance, somewhat grimly, “is what she thinks of you.”
“I don’t know. It did not seem quite fitting to ask her until I had spoken to you.”
Torrance said nothing for almost a minute, and to Clavering the silence became almost intolerable. The old man’s forehead was wrinkled and he stared at the wall in front of him with vacant eyes. Then, he spoke very slowly.