I made talk with him, for him. I gave him no chance to speak, determined as I was that he should speak. I was conscious of but one desire—to put off the avowal.
At last he said: "Sometimes I fancy you're not happy."
His voice was tense. He was leaning forward in his eagerness; he looked so zealous to be my champion—so honest!
I tried to smile. I really liked him.
Happy! Out of memory there came to me a picture: I was creeping to Ethel's bed at night, whispering to her that I was the happiest girl in the world; she kissed me sleepily, and said she was happy too, and then I groped my way back to bed, and lay there in the dark, smiling. That was years ago. Three months? Years, long, long years ago!
Now it flashed across me that Lord Strathay loved me as I had loved Ned. That gave me a measure of the gift he was to offer. I felt Ned's kisses on my hands, bidding me be honest.—I felt other kisses, too; I saw—good God, how long must I see?—a gray old face—the face of Darmstetter! Happy! I closed my eyes to shut out the vision. I shuddered.
"You—really, I'm afraid you're very tired," he said, after waiting a little.
"Yes; tired," I gasped; "that's all."
But I knew I must marry him. I controlled myself. I smiled; I waited. I wished him to go on, but he was peering into my straining eyes with anxious sympathy.
"I'm afraid you're too tired to talk with me to-day," he said; "but—you will let me come again?"