"Except me. And I'm such an old fellow—years too old for you. But I'm alone, and you're alone. Could I make you happy, Betty child?"
She stared at him, all the bright color gone from her face.
"Why, how?" Her voice fluttered and died.
"As my wife. There's the big house on the rocks that I am building."
He faltered. The great house had been built for Diana, on a sudden hopeful impulse that when it was finished she would consent to be its mistress.
"There's the big house," he went on, after a moment, "and there's money enough and to spare. Not that I want you to marry me for that, but I think I could comfort you in your loneliness, Bettina."
In her secluded girlhood there had been no opportunity for masculine adoration; hence there seemed nothing lacking when this man of men, whose coming during her mother's illness had made the one bright spot in her day, whose sympathy had comforted her in her sorrow, whose friendship had sustained her in the months which had followed her great loss, when he spoke of marriage with never a word of love.
"But I'm not wise enough or good enough," she said, with a quick catch of her breath.
He drew her to him, holding her gently.
"Would you like," he asked, "would you like to think that all your life I should take care of you?"