Pride must have its fall, says the old proverb. And perhaps Ingram, who was an Idealist, relied a little too much on his theories and good intentions; as Noel would have said, he was too cocksure of himself.
Anyhow, when Ann, of the heavy foot, ushered him up to the old studio, where he and Everard Ward had passed so many hours of misery and suspense, and he saw Mollie's sweet face, flushing and paling with shy pleasure, Ingram found himself unable to say a word for the sudden choking sensation in his throat; he could only stand there like a fool, holding the thin little hand that Mollie had silently held out to him.
"Won't you sit down?" observed Mollie, faintly; but her lips trembled as she spoke, for Ingram's dumb emotion almost frightened her. It was so unlike her dear old friend, Monsieur Blackie, to stand there without a word of kindly greeting. Mollie's flower-like face grew painfully suffused. "Do please sit down," she faltered, with a growing sense of discomfort and helplessness.
Ingram did as he was bid, but he did not relinquish her hand.
"Mollie," he said, and his eyes were dim with a man's trouble, and the passionate tenderness, that he was trying bravely to repress, was so evident in his voice and manner that even Mollie, innocent and guileless as she was, thrilled in every nerve.
"Perhaps I had better go away," he stammered. "I shall tire you, agitate you, if I stay. I must not say what I think, and, by Heaven, I cannot talk platitudes, when you have come back from the very valley of the shadow of death. Mollie, shall I go?—for I cannot answer for myself, if I remain!"
"Why should you go?" returned Mollie, piteously. "I thought it would be so nice to see you, and I wanted so to thank you. You have done so much for me! Waveney told me that you would not like to be thanked; but indeed, indeed, I am grateful."
"Grateful to me!" returned Ingram, indignantly, and he dropped her hand. "Mollie, do you wish to pain me, that you say such things to me? Gratitude! when I would willingly give you everything I possess! Unsay those words, my darling," he pleaded, passionately. "Don't you know that I love you better than anything in the world? Oh, Mollie, dearest, if I had lost you I think I should have mourned for you all my life."
Ingram was certainly not acting up to his theory. Monsieur Blackie had utterly forgotten his rôle. He had promised himself to keep perfectly cool and collected, to be kind and friendly, and to avoid all emotion or excitement, but before ten minutes had passed he was pouring out his pent-up feelings.
"Oh, Mollie, dear Mollie!" he went on, in a broken voice—for Mollie, shaken and agitated, had hidden her face in her hands—"all this time I have been trying to win you. I want you to be my sweet wife, to give me the right to watch over you all my life. Darling, do you think you can care for poor Monsieur Blackie a little?"