She emphasised the “he,” and her words were full of meaning.
Poor Thorndyke was so dazed, so overwhelmed, that he could do nothing but stare stupidly into Constance’s face. The man who really loves and suffers is generally stupid at the supreme moment. And as she looked into his eyes, so full of longing and yet half-despairing, she turned her head aside and held out her hand a little way, and he caught it in his.
Ten minutes afterward Scipio Africanus poked his head in the door and saw that which made his eyeballs bulge an inch from his head. At the same moment the bell rang sharply.
Scipio opened the front door, and, announcing that Miss Maitland was at home, showed Julian Crane and Annette into the drawing-room. As they walked briskly to the fireplace, they saw the two persons on the sofa start apart. Thorndyke rose to his feet. Having been accepted, he was once more master of himself and of the situation. Constance cowered in the corner of the sofa.
“Pray excuse us,” cried Annette, laughing, blushing, and hesitating.
“There is nothing to excuse,” replied Thorndyke, smiling coolly. “Miss Maitland has just promised to marry me. I am sure I don’t know why, but I am very much obliged to her all the same.”
Annette reached out and took Thorndyke’s hand in hers.
“I know why,” she said, “any woman would know why.”
Crane shook Thorndyke’s hand warmly.