“I must thank you,” he said, “for your great interest in my welfare. Believe me, I shall always remember it.” Which statement was certainly well founded, though the glimmer of a smile danced in his eyes as he made his little speech.
The smile, however, Lady Marth was too engrossed to perceive.
“But”—and at this word, for the first time, her heart misgave her as to what was to follow—“but it is best for me at once to make you understand my position. I am not likely to marry. It seems to me at present almost certain that I never shall.”
“Archie!” exclaimed Lady Marth, startled and surprised, “why not?”
“Simply for this reason. There is only one woman in the world whom I can imagine myself caring for in that way, and she”—here, even Archies calm somewhat deserted him—“she,” he went on, with a touch of bitterness quite new to him, “won’t have anything to say to me.”
“I can scarcely believe it,” exclaimed his hearer.
“There must be some mistake!”
“Thank you for the inferred compliment,” he replied. “But no—it is quite true; there is no mistake.”
Then a wild idea struck Lady Marth, suggested by her irrepressible belief in her own powers of discernment.
“You don’t mean to say,” she began. “Is it possible that we are both thinking of the same person! It can’t be that Rosy has refused you.”