'Why do you Lord me?' he asked; 'I would you called me—Timothy,' he added, rather faintly; and at this absurd name a little smile flickered on Alison's pale face, and a gesture of impatience escaped her, as she knew that she was about to be subjected to some more of his odious and weary love-making.
'My passion for you made me so modest and diffident,' said he (though in reality it was his years), 'that I addressed myself first to your father, though you were well aware of the sweet hopes I fostered in my heart, Alison.'
'It is impossible for me to listen to more of this sort of thing, Lord Cadbury.'
'I can scarcely believe that your decision is final—that you are in earnest with me.'
'Earnest! Do you imagine, sir, that I would jest in this matter, and—and with you?' she exclaimed, becoming—with all her native gentleness—tremulous with suppressed passion.
'When once I ventured to hint of a deeper interest in you than mere friendship, you did not discourage me,' urged Cadbury, who by use and wont could make love in his own way pretty fluently now.
'Perhaps I misunderstood you,—or deemed it—deemed it——'
'What, Alison?'
'A fatherly interest.'
Cadbury winced a little at this remark.