"I thought Seeley might be here," said he, seeking out a lovely rose, and plucking it carefully.
"Seeley!" she exclaimed.
"Seeley. I beg your pardon. I did not know I spoke indistinctly. SEELEY."
He stood and faced her, watching the varying colour of her face, the soft blushes going and coming. Somehow they increased his anger.
"May I ask if you have accepted him?"
"Ac--cepted him!" she stammered, in wild confusion. "Accepted what?"
"The offer that Seeley made you last night."
"It was not last night," she replied in a confused impulse.
"Oh, then it was this morning! May I congratulate you, or not?"
Ellen Adair turned to her book in deep vexation. She had been caught, as it were, into making the tacit admission that Mr. Seeley had made her an offer. And she was hurt at Arthur Bohun's words and tone. Had he no more trust in her than this? As she turned the leaves of the book in her agitation, the plain gold ring on her finger attracted his sight. He was chafing inwardly, but he strove to appear at careless ease, and sat down as far from her as the bench allowed.