He looked at her half-shamefaced, half-ready to resent it if she laughed at him.
Her eyes laughed.
'I thought you'd forgotten that. I saw you mark the catalogue.'
'Beech and oak between two and three hundred years old—in exchange for Greek gems, between two and three thousand. Well—I'll consider it. Now then, are you feeling better?'
And to her amazement he approached her with an outstretched hand. Elizabeth mechanically placed her own in it.
'I know what you want,' he said impetuously. 'You've got a head full of dreams. They're not my dreams—but you've a right to them—so long as you're kind to mine.'
'I try to be,' she said with a rather tremulous lip.
At that moment the library door opened. Neither perceived it. Desmond came in softly, lest his father should be at work. A carved oak screen round the door hid his entrance, and as he emerged into the light his eyes caught the two distant figures standing hand in hand.
Instinctively he stepped back a few paces and noisily opened the door. The Squire walked away.
'Why, Desmond!' said his father, as the boy emerged into the light, 'your train's punctual for once. Thank you, Miss Bremerton—that'll do. Kindly write to those people and say that I am considering the matter. I needn't keep you any longer....'