He came quickly across the hall, and stood by her. Then he said slowly, "I'm wondering, wondering, wondering if I shall ever be in this house again!"
"You must think it well over," she began.
But he cut her short. "It depends on you whether Doryford becomes my home or not."
"On me?" she repeated, troubled. "Don't trust to my taste as much as that, Godfrey."
"But you do like it?" he asked insistently.
"Of course I like it. If it comes to that, I don't know that I've ever been in so beautiful and perfect a house. And then, well perhaps because we've everything so shabby at Old Place, I do like to see everything in such apple-pie order!"
A little disappointed, he went on, "I fear it isn't your ideal house, Betty? Not your house of dreams?"
And then, all at once, she knew that she couldn't answer him, for tears had welled up in her eyes, and choked her speech.
Her house of dreams? Betty Tosswill's house of dreams had vanished, she thought, for ever, so very long ago. Betty's house of dreams had been quite a small house—but such a cosy, happy place, full of the Godfrey of long ago, and of good, delicious dream children....
She turned her head away.