'You don't look pleasant, certainly, if that has anything to do with it. Come; I am a witch, you know,' says Mrs Leyton, 'and so can tell all your secrets. And just to prove my power, I will tell you something now—you are sulky this evening.'
'Meaning I am stupid, I suppose,' says Halkett; 'but it don't take much witchery to discover that. I have an awful headache.'
'Oh, but I have not half done yet,' exclaims Mrs Leyton. 'Shall I go on? I could tell something very important, but that I am afraid of your heavy displeasure. Will you promise not to be angry?'
'Angry with you! Was I ever that?' asks Halkett tenderly. 'I give you full liberty to say anything on earth you like to me.'
'Do you mean that?'
'Certainly I mean it.'
'Very good then,' says the widow with lazy triumph; 'I will continue my sorceries; and first—you are in love.'
'"In love!"' reiterates Halkett, forcing himself heroically to meet her laughing eyes, and reddening very much in the attempt. 'No, no; your witchcraft has played you false this time.'
'It has not. I persist in my declaration. You are in love—hopelessly, irretrievably, desperately in love.'
'Well, perhaps I am,' says Frank, with tranquil resignation. 'Is that strange? Could one be with you, Frances, for so long a time, and not'——