He was holding the little cold hand in his and chafing it gently.
"No," she answered, pulling her hand away; "but we are wasting time. Mrs. Lennard will be anxious about me, and——"
"And what?"
She faltered; her voice fell and broke. Then she looked up proudly, and her eyes met his with a defiant glance.
"And Mrs. Verdon will be inconsolable without you."
When she had spoken she turned from him and began breaking off the boughs which hung low enough for her to reach. He looked down at her slender, graceful figure, and a great tremor passed over him. The next instant she felt him close at her side.
"You must not do that," he said. "Elsie, listen! Some one has been telling falsehoods. Mrs. Verdon is nothing more to me than a pleasant acquaintance. I am grateful to her for taking care of Jamie; but you know I always feel that Waring meant to leave the boy to me. Perhaps I was wrong to bring you here; I wanted a few quiet words—I wanted to get you all to myself for five minutes."
She did not speak, and her head was drooping. The bough that she had held was released, and sprang back, rustling its foliage. The stillness, the grey light, the heavy shadows of the trees, gave a strange unreality to the moment. She felt as if she were part of some bewildering dream.
"I have thought of you every hour of the day," he went on. "I have been thinking of you ever since I saw you first. When we talked together in your London room, I hoped that you were beginning to be interested in me."
She stirred a little, and then lifted her face. She looked as he remembered her looking when he had first known her, only that she was very pale now.