"It is only right that I should speak; I have been waiting all the afternoon to do so, Mr. Chandos—I beg your pardon; I mean Sir Harry," I brought out at last, and the very fact of speaking gave me courage. "I wish—I wish——"
"Why, Anne what is the matter?" he asked, for a great breath like a sob stopped me, momentarily. "What is it that you wish?"
"To tell you that I quite absolve you from anything you have said to me:" and the shame I felt at having betrayed emotion brought to me a sudden and satisfactory coldness of manner. "Please not to think any more about me. It is not your fault, and I shall not think it is. Let it all be forgotten."
A perception of my meaning flashed upon him, badly though I had expressed it. He looked at me steadily.
"Do you mean, not think further of making you my wife?"
"Yes."
"Very well. But now will you tell me why you say this?"
I hesitated. I think I was becoming agitated again: all because I knew I was getting through my task so stupidly.
"Circumstances have altered with you."
"Well, yes, in a measure. I am a trifle richer; and my wife—as Ethel remarked just now—will be Lady instead of Mrs. Chandos. Why should you object to that?"