“It was no doubt very foolish of me,” he declared. “And if my coming has upset you—”
“Oh, no,” she cried. “Please don't think so. It has given me a sense of—of security. That you were ready to help me if—if I needed you.”
“You should always have known that,” he replied. He rose and stood gazing off down the valley once more, and she watched him with her heart beating, with a sense of an impending crisis which she seemed powerless to stave off. And presently he turned to her, “Honora, I have loved you for many years,” he said. “You were too young for me to speak of it. I did not intend to speak of it when I came here to-day. For many years I have hoped that some day you might be my wife. My one fear has been that I might lose you. Perhaps—perhaps it has been a dream. But I am willing to wait, should you wish to see more of the world. You are young yet, and I am offering myself for all time. There is no other woman for me, and never can be.”
He paused and smiled down at her. But she did not speak. She could not.
“I know,” he went on, “that you are ambitious. And with your gifts I do not blame you. I cannot offer you great wealth, but I say with confidence that I can offer you something better, something surer. I can take care of you and protect you, and I will devote my life to your happiness. Will you marry me?”
Her eyes were sparkling with tears,—tears, he remembered afterwards, that were like blue diamonds.
“Oh, Peter,” she cried, “I wish I could! I have always—wished that I could. I can't.”
“You can't?”
She shook her head.
“I—I have told no one yet—not even Aunt Mary. I am going to marry Mr. Spence.”