It was not an encouraging opening for a bashful lover. It was not like this that she had received Powys’s sudden wild declarations, his outbursts of passionate presumption. She had been timid enough then, and had faltered and failed to herself, somewhat as poor Sir Charles was doing. He did not accept her kind invitation to seat himself, but stood before her in front of the fire, and looked more awkward than ever. Poor fellow, he had a great deal on his mind.
“Miss Brownlow,” he burst out, all at once, after he had fidgeted about for five minutes, pulling his mustache and looking at her, “I am a bad fellow to talk. I never know what to say. I’ve got into heaps of scrapes from people mistaking what I mean.”
“Indeed, I am sure I am very sorry,” said Sara; “but I think I always understand what you mean.”
“Yes,” he said, with relief, “aw—I’ve observed that. You’re one that does, and my mother’s one; but never mind my mother just now,” he went on precipitately. “For instance, when a fellow wants to ask a girl to marry him, every thing has to be understood—a mistake about that would be awful—would be dreadful—I mean, you know, it wouldn’t do.”
“It wouldn’t do at all,” said Sara, looking at him with terrible composure, and without even the ghost of a smile.
“Yes,” said Sir Charles, revolving on his own axis, “it might be a horrid mess. That’s why I wanted to see you, to set out with, before I spoke to my mother. My mother’s a little old-fashioned. I’ve just been talking to Mr. Brownlow. I can make my—aw—any girl very comfortable. It’s not a bad old place; and as for settlements and that sort of thing—”
“I should be very glad to give you my advice, I am sure,” said Sara, demurely; “but I should like first to know who the lady is.”
“The lady!” cried Sir Charles—“aw—upon my word, it’s too bad. That’s why I said every thing must be very plain. Miss Brownlow, there’s not a girl in the world but yourself—not one!—aw—you know what I mean. I’d go down on my knees, or any thing; only you’d laugh, I know, and I’d lose my—my head.” All this he said with immense rapidity, moving up and down before her. Then he suddenly came to a stand-still and looked into her face. “I know I can’t talk,” he said; “but you know, of course, it’s you. What would be the good of coming like this, and—and making a fool of myself, if it wasn’t you?”
“But it can’t be me, Sir Charles,” said Sara, growing, in spite of herself, out of sympathy, a little agitated, and forgetting the humor of the situation. “It can’t be me—don’t say any more. If you only knew what has been happening to us—”
“I know,” cried Sir Charles, coming a step closer; “that’s why—though I don’t mean that’s why from the commencement, for I only heard this morning; and that’s why I don’t want to see my mother. You need not think it matters to me—I’ve got plenty, and we could have your father to live with us, if you like.”