“She went, walking quickly away through the wood. I watched her for a few moments, and then returned to the grass plot beneath the tree, and threw myself down there in a very dissatisfied frame of mind. The sun had set before I returned to the hotel.
V.
“I saw nothing more of Kate that day; but I came across Slurk several times, and there was a peculiar look on the fellow’s countenance which made me renew my longing to chastise him. I was anxious to know whether Mr. Birchmore had returned; but, as I could not bring myself to make any inquiries of his valet, and did not care to let him see me asking anyone else, I was obliged to remain in ignorance. However, as I sat out under the trees at dusk, a tall figure, with a lighted cigar in his mouth, appeared in the doorway of the hotel, and, on my saluting him, he sauntered up to my table, and complied with my invitation to sit down.
“The waiter brought us coffee; and under its stimulus I ventured to introduce the subject which lay nearest my heart to Mr. Birchmore’s notice. No doubt I put my best foot foremost, and spoke as eloquently as was consistent with my downright earnestness and sincerity. Mr. Birchmore heard me almost in silence, only giving evidence by an occasional word or interjection that he was giving me his attention. Once or twice, too, I was aware of his having given me one of those sharp icy glances for which he was remarkable. When I had spoken, he fingered the pointed beard on his chin meditatively, and puffed his cigar.
“‘This is a very fair and honourable offer that you make, Gainsborough,’ he said at length. ‘I liked you before; I like you better now. You take it for granted, I suppose, that I’m pretty well off. There, you needn’t say anything; I’ve no doubt of your disinterestedness; but these matters would have to be mentioned, sooner or later, if the affair went on. I say “if,” because—I may as well tell you at once; it will save us all pain—because it can’t go on: it must stop right here; and I can only regret, for both your sakes, that it has gone so far.’
“‘Mr. Birchmore, I cannot take this for an answer. You have given me no reasons. If you want confirmation of my account of myself, I can——’
“‘I want nothing of the sort; on the contrary, I feel complimented that you should accept us, not only without confirmation, but without question. But you can’t marry my daughter, Gainsborough, much as I like you, and much as I daresay she does. When you are older, you will understand that men cannot always follow that course in the world which appears to them most desirable.’
“‘However young or old I may be, Mr. Birchmore, I am old enough to know my own mind, and to require good reasons for changing it. If you have any such reasons, I wish you’d show your liking for me by telling me what they are.’
“‘Do you remember a talk we once had in Paris, when you hinted that I should accompany you on your jaunt? I told you then that the past life of a man sometimes had a hold over his present, constraining his freedom, whether he would or no. And can’t you imagine that those circumstances, however cogent they may be, or, very likely, just because they are so cogent, might be very inconvenient to talk about? To speak plainly, Gainsborough, I don’t see how your loving my daughter obliges me to tell you all the secrets of my life.’
“‘I don’t want to know your secrets, sir; I wish to marry Miss Birchmore.’