What did he mean? The frogs kept croaking at the margin of the lake, disturbed by the sound of their footsteps.
“Whatever you were to tell me to do I should do it,” she said, in the same confused murmur. She was ruining herself with every word she uttered.
He drew up and stood before her, so close that she could feel his breath, on her face. “My dear Glory,” he said passionately, “don't think it isn't terrible to me to renounce the happiness of helping you, but I must not, I dare not, I will not take it.”
She could scarcely breathe for the shame that took sudden hold of her.
“Heaven knows I would give anything to have the joy of looking after your happiness, dear, but I should despise myself forever if I took advantage of your circumstances.”
Good God! What did he think she had been asking of him?
“I am thinking of yourself, Glory, because I want to esteem you and honour you, and because your good name is above everything else—everything else in the world.”
Her shame was now abject. It stifled her, deafened her, blinded her. She could not speak or hear or see.
He took her hand and pressed it.
“Let me go,” she stammered.