The barrier, the letter, Hildegarde, every heroic resolution was forgotten, swept away by the man's passion and her own exulting love. Nora leant her head against the dark-blue coat in reckless, thankful surrender.
"Ich habe dich so endlos lieb!" he repeated. "Kannst du mich auch lieb haben?"
And she answered fearlessly:
"I love you!" and kissed him.
Such was Nora Ingestre's brief courtship and betrothal.
CHAPTER XI
WOLFF MAKES HIS DEBUT IN DELFORD
The family Ingestre was once more united. As far as could be judged from appearances, the union was a complete one. Domestic peace and prosperity seemed to hover like benignant spirits over the tableau which concluded the day's round. Mrs. Ingestre lay as usual on her couch beneath the light of the tall red-shaded lamp, her husband was seated at the table, poring over a volume of the latest dogma, whilst his son, still suffering from the results of a nervous breakdown (attributed to overwork), reclined in the most comfortable arm-chair by the fireside, and imbibed military wisdom from a London daily. If there was any note of discord in this harmony, it came from Nora. She stood opposite her brother, with her elbow resting on the mantelpiece, and the firelight betrayed a warning flash in the wide-open eyes and a tense line about the mouth which boded not altogether well for peace. Her father had glanced once or twice over his spectacles in her direction, but had seemed satisfied. On the whole, she had taken her abrupt and alarming recall with surprising docility and had accepted the obvious exaggeration of the Rev. John's report concerning her mother without resentment. Mrs. Ingestre had been ill, but then she was always more or less ill, and the degree more had scarcely justified the good gentleman's excited telegram. Were the truth admitted, he had been glad to seize upon an excuse to withdraw Nora from the "pernicious influence" of her foreign surroundings, and the strain of copying his sermons and attending to his own affairs generally had given the casting vote. As it has been said, Nora's docility had been as agreeable as it was surprising, and he attributed it to causes very satisfactory to himself. It was obvious, as he had explained triumphantly to Mrs. Ingestre, that Nora had had a bitter lesson "amongst these foreigners," and was only too glad to be home. Hitherto Nora had allowed him to cherish this delusion—hence the undisturbed peace in the family circle.
The French clock on the mantelpiece struck nine. Nora started and looked up, as though she had been waiting for the sound. Then she turned and stood with her back to the fire, her hands clasped behind her, her head held resolutely. "Father and mother," she began, "I have something important to tell you."
The Rev. John turned over a page before considering the speaker. The formality of the address and Nora's general attitude would have startled him if he had been any judge of outward and visible signs, but he was one of those men who only see what they have made up their mind to see, and just at that moment he was determined to look upon Nora in something of the light of a returned and repentant prodigal.