"Ah, but it is true," she returned earnestly. "Such a little would have contented me; five hundred a-year would have made me a happy woman; I told Mr. Logan so. We would have taken a cottage, Emmie and I, larger and prettier than the one we are in, and we should have been as happy as the day is long; but now, what am I to do with it all?" putting out her hands with a sudden gesture of repugnance and helplessness.
He seemed struck with that, and hesitated for a moment before he answered her; there was a certain forlornness in her words and aspect that touched him. They had reached the end of the lane; but now he made a movement as though to retrace his steps, and she turned obediently and walked on again by his side. As she did so he stole a swift glance at her. Did she look any different in his eyes now she was an heiress? His survey took in the tall, slim figure in the simple black dress. That was the hat, surely, to which Dora had objected, and yet how well it suited her. He noted all the little details—the indescribable air of finish that had always pleased his fastidiousness, the set and poise of the pretty head, the mixture of girlish frankness and modesty that gave such a charm to her manner; and then again that inward voice made itself heard. "Oh, if she were only poor, and I dared speak to her!" and the struggle within him gave a little hardness to his voice.
"I think you ought to look at it in quite another light," he began gravely. "It is a great responsibility that has come to you, a talent for which you must account. I don't think you ought to hide it under a bushel in the way you are doing."
"You mean that Mr. Logan must find another mistress? Brierwood Cottage ought to have another tenant?" she returned huskily, speaking out her greatest fear.
"I certainly do mean something of the kind; but there will be plenty of time to discuss that. You cannot decide on your future plans without a good deal of consideration. At present I have something else to say, something for which I wish I could find adequate words. I don't know," stammering and hesitating, "how I am to thank you for your goodness, your generosity—"
"Mr. Clayton," stopping him, "will you do me one favor?"
"What is that?"
"I know what you are going to say, please let it be unsaid."
"But that is impossible."
"It need not be impossible. Why should there be any talk of such things between us?"