"I have come for my answer," he cried. "O Edith, my darling, don't let it be 'No.'"
She laughed aloud at his vehemence—it was the sort of wooing she liked.
"I should like to please you, Sir Victor—what, then, shall it be?"
"Yes! a thousand times, yes! Edith, my love—my love—yes!"
She was smiling still—she looked him frankly in the eyes as no woman on earth, in such an hour, ever looked at the man she loved. She laid in his one slim, brown, ringless hand.
"Since you wish it so much, Sir Victor, let it be as you please. Yes!"
CHAPTER X.
HOW TRIX TOOK IT.
It was half-past twelve, by all the clocks and watches of Powyss Place. Miss Stuart sat alone, in the pleasant boudoir or sitting-room, assigned her, her foot on an ottoman, a novel in her hand, a frown on her brow, and most beautifully dressed. In solitary state, at half-past ten, she had breakfasted, waited upon by the trimmest of English handmaidens in smiles and lace cap. The breakfast had been removed for over an hour, and still Miss Stuart sat alone.
Her mamma had called to see her, so had Lady Helena, but they did not count. She wanted somebody else, and that somebody did not come. Her novel was interesting and new, but she could not read; her troubles were too many and great.