He
waited for an interval of several seconds for her to speak. He was
standing up on the hearthrug, his ill-proportioned figure thrown into
strong relief by the firelight behind him. At last, as she quite failed
to answer him, he drew a pace nearer to her.
"Don't mind me, Miss Trelevan," he said, in a drawl so exaggerated that
she thought it must be intentional. "Take your time. There's no hurry.
I've always thought it was a bit hard on a woman to expect her to answer
an offer of marriage offhand. Perhaps you'd rather write?"
"No," she said, rather breathlessly. "No!" Then, after a pause, still
more breathlessly: "Won't you sit down?"
He stepped away from her again, to her infinite relief, and sat down a
couple of yards away.
There ensued a most painful silence, during which the battle in the
girl's heart raged fiercely. Then at length she took her resolution in
both hands, and faced him. He was not looking at her. He sat quite
still, and she fancied that his eyes were closed; but when she spoke he
turned his head, and she realised that she had been mistaken.
"I can give you your answer now," she said, making the greatest effort
of her life. "It is--it is--yes."
She rose with the words, almost as if in preparation for headlong
flight. But Dick Kenyon kept his seat. He leaned forward a little, his
blue eyes lifted to her face.
"Your final word, Miss Trelevan?" he asked her, in his cool, easy twang.
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