To such broad and piteous appeal was a gallant officer reduced. Nelly was sorry for him, but could not hide the smile in her eyes, as she surveyed him.
'Have you really asked her?'
'Asked her? Many times!—in the dark ages. It is months, however, since she gave me the smallest chance of doing it again. Everything I do or say appears to annoy her, and of course, naturally, I have relieved her of my presence as much as possible.'
Nelly had taken up her knitting.
'If you never come—perhaps—Cicely thinks you are tired of her.'
Marsworth groaned.
'Is that her line now? And yet you know—you are witness!—of how she behaves when I do come.'
Nelly looked up boldly.
'You mustn't be angry, but—why can't you accept her—as she is—without always wanting her different?'
Marsworth flushed slightly. The impressive effect of his fine iron-grey head, and marked features, his scrupulously perfect dress, and general look of competence and ability, was deplorably undone by the signs in him of bewilderment and distress.