Colonel Bonifield had ceased, in part, to be the enthusiast of former days. Perhaps he felt that he had passed his word to give up work on Gray Rocks if disappointment should again reward his efforts, and possibly it saddened him.
One evening Vance and Louise had called on Bertha Allen. She was beautiful as ever, and lisped in sweet intonation. Her dress indicated the grief that still rested upon her. That evening, after her callers had taken their leave, Rufus Grim joined Bertha in the parlor of his luxuriant home. The weeks that had intervened since the death of his wife had not made him entirely forget the proper melancholy tone which formality, at least, demanded he should exhibit.
Bertha seemed frightened with some secret fear and anxiety. She knew too well that a crisis in her life was approaching. Yes, Rufus Grim came to declare himself.
He was confident, as he always was, of the result, nevertheless, there was a timidity that prevented him from feeling the full assurance that he would have liked. He sat down beside her, and after a few common-place remarks, he said, in a voice low, yet audible: “Bertha, I have something to say to you.”
“Yes,” she lisped innocently enough, and looked up into his face.
“What I have to say,” Grim went on, in a husky voice, “cannot be a matter of news to you. You must know that I love you; yes, love you with my whole heart.” His hands trembled and his voice was unsteady.
“You’ve always been so very kind to me,” lisped Bertha, and there was gratitude in her voice.
“Heaven knows I have tried to be, and that I have guarded you with jealous care ever since you were a little girl and came under my protection.” He had taken her hands, but they were unresponsive. “No man,” continued Grim, “could love you more than I have for many years. Of course you knew what my feelings were—you must have known, for have I ever failed to satisfy your every wish and want?”
"Never,” murmured Bertha, as she leaned her head against his breast
“Yes, I have protected you,” he went on, as he laid one arm about her slender form, “I have kept you from the young scape-grace, your cousin, Arthur Boast. I feared he was trying to make love to you, and for that reason forbade him the house.”