He took a step forward as if to grasp her hand, but she drew back.
"No," she said. "I did not expect—that—you would come to me in this way, and—it is not a decision which can be made lightly."
"No, great God, no," said Leicester. His voice was hoarse, and almost trembling. He never could have believed that he could have been so much moved. "It is everything to me—everything."
In his heart of hearts he believed that she would accept him, and yet the fear that she should not became a ghastly nightmare.
"Excuse me," she went on, "but I think I would like to be alone now. I want——"
"Yes," interrupted Leicester, taking his hat and gloves. "I understand. Good-afternoon."
She felt almost disappointed. Was he going away like this? Did he take it for granted that she would write him her decision? But she said nothing. A servant came in answer to her ring, and Leicester walked into the hall. To the servant his manners seemed that of a visitor who had been coldly received.
"Shall I call a carriage, sir?"
"No, I shall walk to the station."
The man opened the door, and he left the house without another word. He walked to the station almost like a man in a dream; he could hardly realise that what had taken place was an actual fact. He had proposed to Olive Castlemaine, and he had not been refused. He found he had twenty minutes to wait for a train back to London, but that did not trouble him. Nothing mattered now. A new element had come into his life; everything had changed. He was no longer a ship upon life's sea, he was a man who loved, and was loved. True, Olive had not said so much as this, but he had read enough of her character to know that had there not been strong hope for him, she would have refused him there and then.