"I do not think he would want me, madame, on those terms, if he thought so."
"Yes, he would, perhaps," said Mrs. Mowbray. "Men make that mistake sometimes. But you—you must not make a mistake now, my dear!"
As Rotha was silent, Mrs. Mowbray rose and came to her where she was standing by the table, and put her arms fondly round the girl.
"You know," she said, kissing her repeatedly, "I love you, Rotha. I cannot let you run into danger, if I can help it; and so I put my hand in, perhaps unwarrantedly."
"Never, dear Mrs. Mowbray!" said Rotha gratefully. "You cannot. You may say anything."
"You are one of those people with whom impulse is strong; and such people often do in a minute what they are sorry for all their lives."
"I hope that tendency has been a little sobered in me," said Rotha.
"Perhaps not much."
"Well, won't you give me a little comfort about this matter?" said Mrs. Mowbray, still holding her close and looking at her. "What are you going to marry this man—this gentleman—for?"
But to answer this question, to any but one person, was foreign to all Rotha's nature. She could not do it. The blood flashed to cheek and brow, making its own report; all that Rotha said, was,
"He wishes it, madame."