“Let that carnation alone, Constance; give your attention to me. What if I do forbid it?”
She walked a little forward, leaving the carnation bed, and halted under the shade of the dark cedar tree, her heart and colour alike fading. Mr. Yorke followed and stood before her.
“William, I must do my duty. There is no other way open to me, by which I can earn something to help in this time of need, except that of becoming a governess. Many a lady, better born than I, has done it before me.”
“A daily governess, I think you said?”
“Papa could not spare me to go out altogether; Annabel could not spare me either; and—”
“I would not spare you,” he struck in, filling up her pause. “Was that what you were about to say, Constance?”
The rosy hue stole over her face again, and a sweet smile to her lips: “Oh, William, if you will only sanction it! I shall go about it then with the lightest heart!”
He looked at her with an expression she did not understand, and shook his head. Constance thought it a negative shake, and her hopes fell again. “You did not answer my question,” said Mr. Yorke. “What if I forbid it?”
“But it seems to be my duty,” she urged from between her pale and parted lips.
“Constance, that is no answer.”