"But you must love him," he said, giving me a long and most earnest glance, "if you put him into your gallery of heroes."
"Oh, I don't know," I replied to that. "I can admire immensely without—without loving. Why, Captain Carbury, I have put you in, and——"
But then he gave me another glance, and it was so very earnest, and his dark blue eyes looked so very pleading, that suddenly the colour leaped into my cheeks, and I lowered my own eyes and began to tremble all over.
"It is the best thing for you, Miss Heather," he said, dropping his voice almost to a whisper. "Oh! yes, I know what I am talking about. Lots of girls do dreadful things; they mar their lives fearfully. I'll tell you how they mar them. They—they marry, and not for love."
"But I am not one of those girls," I replied.
"Are you not, really?" he said. "Now, I have heard rumours, oh, yes!—and while the rumours are being circulated, everything sounds very nice and very golden, but——" He bent a little closer, until his arm touched mine.
Morris was coming back. I saw her trailing her dress over the grass, and carrying a great basket of violets, white and different shades of blue, in her hand.
"Listen," he said. "Even if you did not love with all your heart and soul and strength, don't you think that you might just try the man you put into your gallery of heroes? Don't you think you might begin"—he dropped his voice, and it became quite hoarse—"to love him a little?"
"Oh! oh! oh!" I said; "I could not! You were engaged only a few days ago to Lady Dorothy Vinguard! Why, Captain Carbury, I never even thought of you. I don't love anybody at all, except father—that is—yet."
"There's a great deal in the little word 'yet,' Miss Heather. We should not be rich, neither would we be exactly poor, but I am quite sure I could make you happy. Truly, I never really cared for Dorothy. She was thought a good match for me, and all that sort of thing, you know; but she was too statuesque. I want life, I want warmth, I want soul, I want—oh! all the things you could give. I would make you as happy as the day is long; I could, and I would. Then—let me whisper. You need never see her any more. Think of it, dear little Heather! Heather, Morris is quite close, and I must whisper a secret to you. It was from the day I first met you that I began to find out what sort of girl Lady Dorothy really was—I discovered then that there was a better girl in the world than Lady Dorothy. I want a wife like you; I want you, your very self; you, before you learn to love the world and the ways of the world; you—just because you are so young and so pure and sweet. Think of it, think of it, Heather, and don't say no! Wait at least until to-morrow. I will be in this very place at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning, waiting to get your answer."