“Oh, no, no!” said the girl, obviously in great distress, “I cannot do that. It is unjust to you to let you think of it and hope about it. It was last night everything was strange to me—I did not understand then—but I have thought about it all the night through, and now I know.”
“Sheila!” called her father from the inside of the inn, and she turned to go.
“But you do not ask that, do you?” he said. “You are only frightened a little bit just now, but that will go away. There is nothing to be frightened about. You have been thinking over it, and imagining impossible things; you have been thinking of leaving Borva altogether—”
“Oh, that I can never do!” she said, with a pathetic earnestness.
“But why think of such a thing?” he said. “You need not look at all the possible troubles of life when you take such a simple step as this. Sheila, don’t be hasty in any such resolve; you may be sure all the gloomy things you have been thinking of will disappear when we get close to them. And this is such a simple thing. I don’t ask you to say you will be my wife—I have no right to ask you yet—but I have only asked permission of you to let me think of it; and even Mr. Ingram sees no great harm in that.”
“Does he know?” she said, with a start of surprise and fear.
“Yes,” said Lavender, wishing he had bitten his tongue in two before he had uttered the word. “You know we have no secrets from each other; and to whom could I go for advice but to your oldest friend?”
“And what did he say?” she asked, with a strange look in her eyes.
“Well, he sees a great many difficulties, but he thinks they will easily be got over.”
“Then,” she said, with her eyes again cast down and a certain sadness in her tone, “I must explain to him, too, and tell him I had no understanding of what I said last night.”