“I am so glad;” and Bessie did look glad. He was quite like himself this morning; she had got her friend back again. “Did father send me no other message?” she asked presently.
“No, I believe not; at least, I have no recollection of a message. Miss Lambert,” and here Richard’s manner was decidedly nervous, “don’t you wonder what my business was at Cliffe?”
“Why, no,” she said, so frankly and innocently that in spite of his nervousness Richard could not restrain a smile. “I suppose there was something you wanted.”
“Yes, indeed,” he replied promptly, for this remark helped him; “and I wanted it so much that I was obliged to apply to your father.”
“Could father help you?” much astonished at this.
“He helped me a great deal. I should not be speaking to you now but for him. Miss Lambert—Bessie—can’t you guess? It is so hard for me to bring it out. Can’t you guess what it was I wanted from your father? I have never wanted anything so much in my life.”
Richard’s manner grew so earnest and imploring, that an idea of his meaning flashed across her with a suddenness that made her giddy; but she only said very gravely:
“I cannot understand unless you speak out.”
“May I speak out, then—may I tell you plainly what I want? It is yourself, Bessie;” and, in spite of his nervousness, Richard spoke a few forcible words, very eloquent from their intense earnestness. “I have cared for you all this time, but I would not obtrude myself on your trouble; I thought it better to wait.”
“It was very kind, very thoughtful of you,” replied Bessie, in a low voice. And then she added, shyly: “This is all new to me. I never expected this, Mr. Sefton.”