The half-hour she had promised him left Amaryllis little less unhappy than Randal Bellamy.
Tea under the cedar was over, and Amaryllis could not eat even another éclair, when he had said to her, "It's half-past five."
"Oh, yes," she replied, and folded her hands in her lap.
"So I've got till six o'clock," he went on.
"Yes," said Amaryllis, adding, a little uneasily, "and as much longer as you like, Sir Randal."
He smiled at her mistake, and shook his head in resignation.
"You don't mean that—not in my sense," he said. "But look here, my dear: I do really think it wouldn't be a bad thing for you to marry me. You have no idea how good I should be to you. I have money and position. You like me, and you will like me better. And for me—well, it hardly seems fair to tell you what it would mean to me."
"Why not fair?" asked the girl, pained by his eagerness, and wishing it all over.
"I've always thought that appealing ad misericordiam was taking a mean advantage. If I do it now, don't listen to me. But, if I'm worth it to you, Amaryllis, take me, and you shan't regret it."
"You are worth anything—everything!" she cried, much distressed. "Worth ever so much more, dear Sir Randal, than I could give. But I'd give you all that I am—indeed I would—if it wasn't for—for——"