She was silent a moment, considering.
"Is he fond of the place,--Oversite? Would he wish to live there?"
"Oh, unquestionably. It would be difficult to imagine an Overman in any other setting."
"Does Mrs. Overman have the same feeling about it?"
"She is devoted to it. She is more of a Royalist than the king."
The broken music that was dropping unconsciously from Leslie's fingers crashed into a sudden stormy volume of sound that made Burton feel as nervous as though a peal of thunder had suddenly shot across the summer night. It filled the room with inharmonious noise for a few minutes. Then Leslie stopped abruptly and whirled about on her piano stool. There was a threatening storm in her cloudy eyes.
"You understood clearly, didn't you, that my--my agreement to consider Philip's proposal further was conditioned upon the absolute, complete and unequivocal clearing of my family's name from the reflections that have been cast upon it? Under no other conditions would I for a moment consider the possibility of entering such a family."
"I understood perfectly," said Burton gravely. "Believe me, I shall guard your dignity quite as jealously as you would yourself."
She dropped her eyes swiftly, but not soon enough to hide the rush of tears that suddenly brimmed them at his words. But she was staunch, and after a moment she said gaily, though without lifting her eyelids:
"You asked a while ago what sort of a girl I am. I fancy I am a sort that Mrs. Overman has never met,--a girl who has known humiliation, poverty, struggle, and yet who is unreasonably and uncomfortably proud. What have I to commend me to her? My accomplishments are commonplace,--perhaps not even passable in her eyes. And I have nothing else, except a knowledge of life which she would deprecate as something most undesirable,--a knowledge that has never come near her. I am just one of the great average!"