"I cannot."
"But I love you—I have always loved you. And you—I used to think you loved me."
He was strangely calm and passionless, voice and glance, and face. But Lady Thetford had covered her face, and was sobbing.
"I did—I do—I always have! But I cannot marry you. I will love you all my life; but don't, don't ask me to be your wife."
"As you please!" he said, in the same passionless voice. "I think it is best myself; for the George Everard of to-day is not the George Everard who loved you eight years ago. We would not be happy—I know that. Ada, is that your son?"
"Yes."
"I should like to look at him. Here, my little baronet! I want to see you."
The boy, who had been looking curiously at the stranger, ran up at a sign from his mother. The tall captain lifted him in his arms and gazed in his small, thin face, with which his bright tartan plaid contrasted harshly.
"He hasn't a look of the Thetfords. He is your own son, Ada. My little baronet, what is your name?"
"Sir Rupert Thetford," answered the child, struggling to get free. "Let me go—I don't know you!"