“But it is the one thing I desire;” and then Lennox began to plead. “No man is worthy of you, Grace, and I least of all. The world counts me proud and cold, and I regret my manner every day, but I can love, and I love you with all my heart You know I can give you a house and every comfort of life—perhaps I may be able to bring you honour and rank some day; but these are not the arguments I would urge or you would care to hear. Love is my plea—that I never loved before I saw you, and if you refuse me that I will not love any other.
“Do not speak yet” His face was white, and he stretched out his hands in appeal. “Have we not the same... faith and the same ideals? Could not we work together for a lifetime, and serve the world with our love? Perhaps I ought to have spoken years ago, but the Bar is an uncertain profession, and my position was not made. It seemed to me cowardly to ask a woman's love before one could offer her marriage, so I kept silent till last spring, when I saw your sisters' lovers and their happiness—and then I could not help telling you that one man hoped to win your heart Now I ask for your answer.
“If you love another man,” he went on, “or feel that you can never love me, tell me at once, Grace, for this were better for us both. I would never cease to love you, for we slow, cold men do not change, and if you had need I would serve you, but never again would I... trouble you,” and the ablest of the junior counsel at the Chancery Bar broke down before a girl that had no other attraction than the goodness of her soul.
Grace Leconte was the calmer of the two when she spoke, but her face was set like a martyr's in his agony.
“I had hoped, Mr. Lennox, that you would not have followed up what you said in March, but yet so selfish is a woman, I am not sorry to be told that I... am loved by such a man.
“Believe me, it is I that am unworthy. You have made too much of a very ordinary woman But I am proud of... your love, and in after years, when I find the strain too heavy, will often say, 'God has been good to me. George Lennox loved me.”
He was waiting anxiously, not knowing how this would end.
“You have spoken frankly to me, and have laid bare your heart,” she went on. “I do not see why I should be hindered by custom from telling you the truth also,” and then she hesitated, but only for a little. “For years—I do not know how long—I have... loved you, and have followed your career as only a woman who loves could—gathering every story of your success, and rejoicing in it all as if you had been mine. Wait, for I have not yet done.
“If I could say 'Yes,' I would, George—may I call you this, only to-day?—without any delay but I must say 'No' instead, although it may break my heart I can never be your wife.”
“What do you mean...?”