"
"Yes."
After this there is a pause. It is as though he wanted her to question
him; as though she were fighting against the desire to know his meaning.
She conquers herself by an effort.
"I have been very ill since you saw me last. You find me much altered,
do you not?"
"You look delicate," he answers, "but in my eyes," lowering his voice,
"you are as beautiful as ever."
She half-smiles, half-sighs.
"It is very kind of you to say that," she utters, "but I cannot deceive
myself. I am an old woman now; if ever I had any good looks they are
gone."
"They are _not_!" cries Lord Harford staunchly. "What I say is gospel
truth. I think your delicacy becomes you. I hate your great buxom,
dairymaid women."
Virginia smiles at his earnestness.
"Ah, if you had been mine," he goes on, "I should never have wanted to
look at another woman, young or old."
Still that strange meaning in his tone. A chill terror creeps to
Virginia's heart--she can no longer restrain herself.
"What do you mean?" she says, fixing her eyes on him. "You are hinting
at something--you want to convey something to my mind. If you are a
man--if you pretend to be my friend, speak out honestly."
He rises, and takes one or two turns in the room, then stops abruptly in
front of her.
"Will you believe me, I wonder?" he asks, "or will you think me a mean
hound who only seeks his own interest?"
"Interest?" echoes Virginia bitterly, "what interest can it be to you?"
"This much," he answers, a red flush mounting to his brow, "that I am as
anxious this moment to make you my wife as I was four years ago.
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