“Yes,” dryly, was the only comment.
“He said he might get around here before he retired. I hope you would not mind, he is so very capricious, you don’t know.”
“Oh, no, I don’t mind, but if he comes I am going, for I ‘don’t mind’ saying also I’ve had enough of that fellow!”
The baroness looked up with surprise, but Morning went on excitedly:—
“Oh, I know I ought not to say this to you, but I must say it, and a great deal more, unless you stop me! I say you are in deadly terror of that man, and you hate him beside, as you ought.”
“How can you—who told you this? Surely you are assuming—”
“No, pardon me, I am assuming nothing. I read your letters.”
“Who gave you my letters?” asked the baroness in amazement.
“Your mother urged them upon me, and I was disloyal enough to read them, every line,” a little triumphantly. He arose hastily and walked away for a few paces, drying and fanning his face with his handkerchief, then, returning, he leaned upon the back of her chair, and, dropping his voice, said huskily, and with quite uncontrollable emotion:—
“Ellen—let me call you so this once, it remains with you whether I ever utter the name again—dear Ellen, answer this from your own sweet lips, have you a spark of love for that beas—man?” correcting himself too late. “I know how capricious the heart of a woman is, and perhaps—but no! take your time to answer, only give me your word,” and he walked swiftly away, and looked out on the sea, and saw the waves beat their soft white arms upon the sands, then returned.