“Oh, Cousin Geoffrey, this means so much to me,” I said, half sobbing. “How happy you can make me, and I will love you for it. There, I will love you!”
I knew I was offering him something greater than he could give me. I felt we were equals. I ceased to sob, I stood up, and looked him full in the face.
He returned my gaze with great solemnity. A queer change came over his very old face; his eyes were lit by an inward fire. It was impossible for me to tell whether he was pleased or not, but unquestionably he was moved, even agitated. After a brief pause he came up and took my hand in his.
“You are a brave girl, Rosamund Lindley,” he said. “You are like your mother, but you have more spirit than she ever had. You are very young—very, very young, or you would not offer an old man like me—an old miser, a person whose own heart is withered—such a gift as love. What can a withered heart want with love? You are very young, Rosamund, so I forgive your rash words. I will talk to you, however. Sit near me. You may open that fresh heart to me if you feel inclined.”
Cousin Geoffrey and I talked together for over an hour. At the end of that time he told me he was hungry, and that if I had no objection he would go out and bring in some lunch for us both.
He was now quite confidential and friendly. I made him laugh several times, and although he had apparently turned a deaf ear to my request, I fancied that I was getting on very well with him.
He made me chain the hall-door after him when he went out, and he promised that he would not be longer away than he could help. He brought in two mutton-chops for our lunch, which he fried himself in the most perfect manner, over a gas-jet in his sitting-room. We had bread with our chops, and some very rare wine, which was poured into tall Venetian glasses of great beauty.
“I don’t open this wine for my distant relatives,” he said, with a chuckle. “But you, Rosamund—your courage deserves the best I can do for you.”
After lunch he took me all over his large house. It was full of the most valuable and costly furniture, but all worm-eaten and going to decay from dirt and neglect.
He had some paintings of immense value in his drawing-rooms, and in his library were several rare editions of costly books.