‘Very well,’ said she, resignedly. ‘Go on.’
‘I was about to observe that though Otho certainly appears disposed just now to kick over the traces altogether, and not listen to anything that any one has to say to him, yet I think I may still say, I have more influence over him than any one else has. But upon my soul, I do not know how long it may last. He has got some notion into his head which, for a wonder, he has not confided to me, and I cannot answer for the freaks which it may inspire him to play. I wonder if you will think me impertinent for asking, did you know much about Otho and his character before you came to live here?’
‘No—at least, my uncle, Mr. Stanley, used to say he was afraid Otho was rather fast, and told me not to let him bet. I think,’ added Eleanor, with rather a sad smile, ‘that if we had known him better, we should not have wasted our words in that way.’
‘I think something still more probable is, that you would not have wasted your time in coming here.’
‘I did not choose to come here. It so fell out that this was the right place for me to come to.’
‘You had nowhere else to go?’
‘Practically nowhere. My aunt died, and my uncle’s health had so given way that he and Paul—my cousin, and their only child—have gone to travel together for an indefinite time. Where should I have thought of coming to but to my home?’
She raised her head, and looked at him both proudly and sadly. Gilbert’s eyes fell—not in confusion, but reflectively.
‘True,’ he admitted, after a moment. ‘And you intend to remain here?’
‘Certainly I do. Why should I go?’