“Another biscuit? No? We will send the tray away then.”
Ringing the bell, a servant came in and removed the things. Sir Robert, standing at the window, and looking down at Anne as she sat, began to speak.
“I think there might be more difficulty in getting you a situation as governess than we thought for; one that would be quite suited to you, at least. Perhaps another kind of situation would do better for you.”
Her whole face, turned up to him with its gaze of expectancy, changed to sadness; the light in her eyes died away. It seemed so like the knell of all her hopes. Sir Robert only smiled.
“If you could bring yourself to take it—and to like it,” he continued.
“But what situation is it, sir?”
“That of my wife. That of Lady of Bellwood.”
Just for a moment or two she simply stared at him. When his meaning reached her comprehension, her face turned red and white with emotion. Sir Robert took her hand and spoke more fully. He had learnt to like her very very much, to esteem her, and wished her to be his wife.
“I am aware that there is a good deal of difference in our ages, my dear; more than twenty years,” he went on, while she sat in silence. “But I think you might find happiness with me; I will do my very best to insure it. Better be my wife than a nursery governess. What do you say?”