“I asked her advice about—accepting Lord Everscourt!” she said, faltering; and there was a moment’s silence before Arthur replied quietly:
“I see! Just so. And Peggy said?”
“She said she was sowwy for him, not me. She said that I looked upon it as a business arrangement, and seemed to think that I could never really care for any man.”
“And was she misjudging you? Do you care for Lord Everscourt, Rosie?”
She shook her head at him with a soundless movement of lips shaped to pronounce a “No.”
“But he is a good fellow, I am told, and devoted to you. I don’t agree with Peggy on this question, Rosalind. You have been brought up to value certain things so highly that you cannot be happy without them, and if you meet an honest English gentleman who can give them to you, and love you sincerely into the bargain, I believe that it would be your best chance of happiness. If you can esteem and respect him, love would probably follow.”
Rosalind dropped her eyes and stood before him drooping and silent. This was not what she had expected to hear. Never in her most despondent moods had she believed it possible that Arthur Saville would advocate her marriage with another; never had she believed that he could listen unmoved to such a suggestion! The pain at her heart forced her into speech, and the words faltered forth with unconscious self-betrayal.
“No, I could never love him. It’s impossible! I have no love to give.”
“You mean—” began Arthur, and then stopped short, for Rosalind had lifted her eyes to his in a long, eloquent glance, and in that moment there were no secrets between them. Rosalind realised the patient, self-sacrificing love which had kept silence for her sake, and Arthur Saville knew that all that was best in Rosalind Darcy’s nature was given to him, and that he held the key to the poor starved citadel of her heart.
“Oh, Rosie!” he cried brokenly, “is it really so? Am I the happy man, dear? Do you mean that you care for me instead—that that is the reason why you cannot love him?”