“Who is it?” he asked thickly.
“Do not look so wild. It is young Mr. Fenton of Waterchurch Court.”
His lips were trying to frame a question, but he had not the courage to utter it. She smiled.
“I do not mean to marry him.”
For answer he caught her hand and covered it with kisses.
“Please stop!” she cried, “or I cannot tell you anything. Do be reasonable, Mr. Kent!”
“You will not marry him! You cannot! Oh, Isoline, promise me! promise me! Do not take away your hand. I will not let you go till you say you do not care for him.”
“Have I not told you that I mean to refuse him?”
“What? You have not done it yet?” cried Rhys, “and you said he had asked you! What have you done? What have you done?”
Isoline was a little ruffled; there was so much she wished to tell him and so much that she dared not tell him, that she was finding it difficult to steer between the two.