“Yes, I am very fond of her,” she stammered.
“I wish you would take her for your own,” Bootles said, very gently.
“For—my own?” sharply. “What do you mean?”
For a moment she thought he knew all, but his next words undeceived her.
“If she had such a mother as you, poor little motherless waif, and if I had such a wife, and if Ferrers Court had such a mistress! Oh! don’t you understand what I mean?” taking her hand.
Miss Grace snatched the hand away. “Oh, don’t, don’t, DON’T!” she said, turning away.
But Bootles possessed himself of it again. “Must I tell you more? Oh, my darling, how from the very first day I ever saw you I loved you with all my heart and soul? How, when I bade you welcome to my house, I could, and would if I had dared, have taken you up to my heart and kissed you before every one? How—”
“Oh, tell me nothing—nothing!” she cried, with feverish haste. “Don’t you understand it cannot be? It is impossible—quite impossible.”
“Impossible!” he echoed, blankly. “Why is it impossible? Not because you don’t care, that I’ll swear.”
She said nothing.