Cheveril, however, seemed in no hurry. He sat down facing her, and there
followed a pause, during which she felt that he was studying her
attentively.
Growing desperate at length, she looked him in the face, and spoke.
"I am not a very lively companion to-night, Mr. Cheveril," she said.
"That is why I came away from the rest."
There was more of appeal in her voice than she intended; and, realising
it, she coloured deeply, and looked away again. He was just the sort of
man to avail himself of a moment's weakness, she told herself, with
rising agitation. Those shrewd eyes of his missed nothing.
But Cheveril gave no sign of having observed her distress. He maintained
his silence for some seconds longer. Then, somewhat abruptly, he broke
it.
"I didn't follow you in order to be amused, Miss Harford," he said. "The
fact is, I have a confession to make to you, and a favour to ask. And I
want you to be good enough to hear me out before you try to answer. May
I count on this?"
The dry query did more to quiet her perturbation than any solicitude.
She was quite convinced that he meant to propose to her, but his absence
of ardour was an immense relief. If he would only be businesslike and
not sentimental, she felt that she could bear it.
"Yes, I will listen," she said, facing him with more self-possession
than she had been able to muster till that moment.
Pages:
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223