Carstairs was silent, he was trying to think. The situation was getting beyond him, he had a fleeting idea of trying to change the subject, of closing the matter; but he knew that once closed it could never be re-opened, and he wanted to do the right thing. They were silent for some minutes.
"Jack?" she asked, and the struggle was painful. "Has my money made any difference to you?"
"Half a minute!" he said, hastily. "Don't say any more, please. Let me think"—he paused—"Five years ago I met a girl in Scotland."
"And you love her, Jack?"
"Yes. I thought not at one time, but I know now that I do."
They walked for a long time in silence, then she spoke.
"I'll write to Mr Darwen to-night and tell him that if he likes to wait a long, long time, I'll marry him," she said.
Carstairs was silent; the great big English heart of him was torn asunder.
"Why don't you speak, Jack? Mr Darwen's your friend, isn't he? He's handsome and so kind and attentive, and if he cares for me as—as he says he does, I think I ought to marry him. I couldn't before, but now—don't you think I ought?"
"Well, er—it's more a question for the guv'nor. Will you let me explain the situation to him, and then he'll see you. The guv'nor's very wise, in these things, and it's his province, you know. I should like you to talk to him."