“I was afraid not, from your manner; but, Bessie, for my sake you will think of it now. We have been friends, and now you have grown necessary to my happiness. I have been very lonely all these years; I shall be lonelier than ever if you cannot bring yourself to love me.” His voice was so sad that the tears came to Bessie’s eyes. She longed to comfort him; but how was she to be sure of her own mind?
“Will you give me a little time, a few hours to think of it?” she said at last. “It will not be right to answer you now. Do my mother and father know about this?”
“Yes,” he returned eagerly, for her words filled him with hope; she had not repulsed him, and her manner, though confused, was as gentle as ever. “They quite approved. You see, I knew you so well that I would not have ventured to speak to you without their sanction.”
“You were right,” she said softly; and then she looked at him in a beseeching way that made Richard say:
“You would like me to leave you alone for a little, would you not?”
“If you please—that is, if you do not mind.”
“I will go, then. But, Bessie, you will be here to-morrow morning?”
“Yes.”
“I will be content with that promise, then,” and Richard lifted his hat and moved away, and Bessie went home.
Breakfast was ready when she arrived, and she took her place at once, and made an effort to talk as usual. Once Edna made a remark about Richard.