“What you have to say,” she replied, blushing, and lowering her eyes.
“But what have I to say?” he persisted.
She was silent a moment, then saw that she must help him out.
“Don’t you know? You were not at all tongue-tied when you said it the evening you came here.”
Peyton felt a gulf opening before him. “Good heaven,” thought he, “she actually believes I am about to propose!”
Now, or never, was the time for the plunge. He drew a full breath, and braced himself to make it.
“But—ah—you see,” said he, “the trouble is,—what 195 I said then is not what I have to say now. You must understand, Miss Philipse, that I am devoted to a soldier’s career. All my time, all my heart, my very life, belong to the service. Thus I am, in a manner, bound no less on my side, than you—I beg your pardon—”
“What do you mean?” She spoke quietly, yet was the picture of open-eyed astonishment.
“Cannot you see?” he faltered.
“You mean”—her tone acquired resentment as her words came—“that I, too, am bound on my side,—to Mr. Colden?”