“Your mother’s God abundantly bless you, my precious daughter?” said my mother.
I kissed her thin hands passionately, and ran out of the room.
A footman in livery was coming up the stairs. He bore a card on a silver salver.
“The gentleman is in the drawing-room, miss,” he said.
I took the card, rushed past the astonished servant, and untidy and discomposed, tears scarcely dried on my cheeks, entered the drawing-room.
My cousin Tom was standing by one of the windows. When he heard my step he turned quickly round, advanced a pace or two, then stood still, a crimson wave of colour dyeing his darkly-bronzed cheeks, and his white brow. He looked confused, awkward, uncertain. I, on the contrary, had no room in my over-full heart for embarrassment.
“I have sent for you, Cousin Tom,” I said, “to say that I will marry you as soon as ever you will have me.” I looked him full in the face as I spoke, and when I had finished I held out one of my hands for him to take.
He stared at me for a moment in absolute astonishment. Then a queer change came over his whole face. It became irradiated with the sweetest and most joyful light. He took my slim fingers between his two great hands, and almost crushed them.
“And I would marry you to-morrow, Rosamund,” he said, “not because of Cousin Geoffrey’s will, but because I love you for yourself. I love you, Rosamund; I have loved you since—”
There came an interruption. The drawing-room door was banged noisily open. Jack’s voice was heard on the threshold. Hetty’s gay, agitated little treble followed it.