'Oh, Bella, you know not—may never, never know—what my mind is struggling with!' he began, in a low and hurried voice, and then paused; for it was strange that jolly Jerry, usually cool, calm, self-reliant in the tumult of the betting-ring, in the business transactions of life, in the hurly-burly of a field-day in the Long Valley, with a dozen of aides-de-camp all bellowing contrary orders to him at once, should be wanting in confidence when alone with Bella Chevenix; and yet perhaps it was not strange, when those infernal mortgages, which made her an heiress and him a half ruined man, are remembered.
Young Twesildown's profound admiration for Bella—notwithstanding her snub—admiration openly expressed to himself, and that of more than one other man, had made Jerry feel uncomfortable and savage—all the more that he had begun to assume or feel a right of proprietary in her that in itself was very delightful; but it is said that 'a man head over ears in love would feel jealous of his charmer's uncle, not knowing him to be such;' and certainly Jerry Wilmot was in that submerged condition.
'With what is your mind struggling?' asked Bella, with reference to his broken words.
'I know not how to explain.'
'You do look troubled, Captain Wilmot. In your usually merry face one never sees such an expression as it wears now,' said she, surveying his features with her sweet and earnest eyes, full of great and sudden sympathy. 'What—amid a scene like this to-night—this gay world of yours, rank and luxury around you—what mental pain have you to struggle with?'
Jerry felt her slender fingers trembling in his hand, and he pressed them softly and caressingly.
'You know not all I have endured of doubt and love too, Bella, since—since—'
'Since when?' she asked, impatiently, but in a low voice.
'That interview I had with your father.'
Her dilated eyes expressed great wonder at this unexpected reply.