It was a strange speech for one so young—one who, so far as he could make out, had been so gently nurtured and cared for.
"What do you mean, Maisrie?" said he in his astonishment. "Why should you not have happiness, as well as another? Who can deserve it more than you—you who are so generous and well-wishing to everyone—"
"I would rather not speak of myself at all, Vincent," she said. "That is nothing. I want to speak of you. I want you to consider—what is best for you. And I understand your position—perhaps more clearly than you imagine. You have made me think, of late, about many things; and now that you are going away, I must speak frankly. It will be difficult. Perhaps—perhaps, if you were more considerate, Vincent—?"
"Yes?" said he. That Maisrie should have to beg for consideration!
"There might be no need of speaking," she went on, after that momentary pause. "If you were to go away now, and never see us any more, wouldn't that be the simplest thing? There would be no misunderstanding—no ill-feeling of any kind. You would think of the time we knew you in London—and I'm sure I should always think of it—as a pleasant time: perhaps something too good to last. I have told you before: you must remember what your prospects are—what all your friends expect of you—and you will see that no good could come of hampering yourself—of introducing someone to your family who would only bring difficulty and trouble—"
"Yes, I understand!" he said—and he threw away her hand from him. "I understand now. But why not tell the truth at once—that you do not love me—as I had been fool enough to think you did!"
"Yes, perhaps I do not love you," she said in a low voice. "And yet I was not thinking of myself. I was trying to think of what was best for you—"
Her voice broke a little, and there were tears gathering on her eyelashes: seeing which made him instantly contrite. He caught her hand again.
"Maisrie, forgive me! I don't know why you should talk like that! If I have your love I do not fear anything that may happen in the future. There is nothing to fear. When I spoke to your grandfather yesterday afternoon, I told him precisely how I was situated; and I showed him that, granting there were some few little difficulties, the best way to meet them would be for you and me to get married at once: then everything would come right of its own accord—for one must credit one's relatives with a little common sense. Now that is my solution of all this trouble—oh, yes, I confess there has been a little trouble; but here is my solution of it—if you have courage, Maisrie. Maisrie, will you give me your promise—will you be my wife?"
She looked at him for a second; then lowered her eyes.