He seated himself beside her, drawing his chair very close to hers, and taking her hand in his. He was more affectionate this evening than usual. What did it portend? she thought. She had already begun to acquiesce in Rachel's estimate of Stanley, and to fancy that whatever he did it was with an unacknowledged purpose.
'Does little Dorkie love me?' said Lake, in a sweet undertone.
There was reproach, but love too, in the deep soft glance she threw upon him.
'You must promise me not to be frightened at what I am going to tell you,' said Lake.
She heard him with sudden panic, and a sense of cold stole over her. He looked like a ghost—quite white—smiling. She knew something was coming—the secret she had invoked so long—and she was appalled.
'Don't be frightened, darling. It is necessary to tell you; but it is really not much when you hear me out. You'll say so when you have quite heard me. So you won't be frightened?'
She was gazing straight into his wild yellow eyes, fascinated, with a look of expecting terror.
'You are nervous, darling,' he continued, laying his hand on hers. 'Shall we put it off for a little? You are frightened.'
'Not much frightened, Stanley,' she whispered.
'Well, we had better wait. I see, Dorcas, you are frightened and nervous. Don't keep looking at me; look at something else, can't you? You make yourself nervous that way. I promise, upon my honour, I'll not say a word about it till you bid me.'