"Well, well, too much of it makes a man look like a fool," was the answer, "and besides, to tell the truth, I'm devilish impatient. Who could look at you and be anything else? What's the use of wasting time in this way? I could fix things up in a week, and never a word to Lawrence or Carrissima till we're safely out of England. Come now, when shall we get married?"
For a few moments, while Colonel Faversham sat smoking, she did not answer. She was standing a few yards away, with her fingers interlocked. Her breath came and went quickly and her face had lost all its colour.
"It's no use," she suddenly exclaimed. "I can't tell you."
"Why not—why not?" demanded Colonel Faversham. "Good gracious, my little pet isn't frightened of me!"
"I think I am," she faltered.
"What is there to be frightened about?"
"You have always been so kind—I am going to treat you so horridly——"
"No, you're not," he said. "You're going to make me the dearest little wife in the world. Come, now, Bridget?"
He was too fatuously enamoured to dream that she could be struggling for strength to dismiss him. Her obvious timidity was ascribed to natural maidenly bashfulness, which made her appear wonderfully enticing. She clasped her hands more tightly together and turned her head this way and that, glancing at the windows, at the door, as if she longed to run away and make her escape from the man whose chief desire in life was to keep her always by his side.
He saw her moisten her lips and raise her hands for a moment to her forehead.