'Deeper?' he said, with a puzzled look. 'I wonder what you mean? I haven't anything "deeper." There isn't anything "deep" about me.'
Was it true? Elizabeth suddenly recalled those midnight steps on the night of Desmond's departure.
'You know,' he resumed, 'for you have worked with me now for six months—you know at least what kind of a man I am. I assure you it's at any rate no worse than that! And if I ever annoyed you too much, why you could always keep me in order—by the mere threat of going away! I could have cut my throat any day with pleasure during those weeks you were absent!'
Again Elizabeth hid her face in her hands and laughed—rather hysterically. There was something in this last appeal that touched her—some note of 'the imperishable child,' which indeed she had always recognized in the Squire's strange personality.
The Squire waited—frowning. When she looked up at last she spoke in her natural friendly voice.
'I don't think, Mr. Mannering, we had better go on talking like this. I can't accept what you offer me—'
'Again I can't think why,' he interrupted vehemently; 'you have given me no sort of explanation. Why must you refuse?'
'Because I don't feel like it,' she said, smiling. 'That's all I need say. Please don't think me ungrateful. You've offered me now a position and a home—and you've given me my head all this time. I shall never forget it. But I'm afraid—'
'That now I've made such an ass of myself you'll have to go?'
She thought a moment.