Billy caught up the word.  “Absurd!” he echoed—­“yes, that describes what I’ve been pretty well, doesn’t it, Peggy?  I was absurd when I let you send me to the right-about four years ago.  I realised that to-day the moment I saw you.  I should have held on like the very grimmest death; I should have bullied you into marrying me, if necessary, and in spite of fifty Anstruthers.  Oh, yes, I know that now.  But I was only a boy then, Peggy, and so I let a boy’s pride come between us.  I know now there isn’t any question of pride where you are concerned—­not any question of pride nor of any silly misunderstandings, nor of any uncle’s wishes, nor of anything but just you, Peggy.  It’s just you that I care for now—­just you.”

“Ah!” Margaret cried, with a swift intake of the breath that was almost a sob.  He had dared, after all; oh, it was shameless, sordid!  And yet (she thought dimly), how dear that little quiver in his voice had been were it unplanned!—­and how she could have loved this big, eager boy were he not the hypocrite she knew him!

She’d show him!  But somehow—­though it was manifestly what he deserved—­she found she couldn’t look him in the face while she did it.

So she dropped her eyes to the floor and waited for a moment of tense silence.  Then, “Am I to consider this a proposal, Mr. Woods?” she asked, in muffled tones.

Billy stared.  “Yes,” said he, very gravely, after an interval.

“You see,” she explained, still in the same dull voice, “you phrased it so vaguely I couldn’t well be certain.  You don’t propose very well, Mr. Woods.  I—­I’ve had opportunities to become an authority on such matters, you see, since I’ve been rich.  That makes a difference, doesn’t it?  A great many men are willing to marry me now who wouldn’t have thought of such a thing, say—­say, four years ago.  So I’ve had some experience.  Oh, yes, three—­three persons have offered to marry me for my money earlier in this very evening—­before you did, Mr. Woods.  And, really, I can’t compliment you on your methods, Mr. Woods; they are a little vague, a little abrupt, a little transparent, don’t you think?”

“Peggy!” he cried, in a frightened whisper.  He could not believe, you see, that it was the woman he loved who was speaking.

And for my part, I admit frankly that at this very point, if ever in her life, Margaret deserved a thorough shaking.

“Dear me,” she airily observed, “I’m sure I’ve said nothing out of the way.  I think it speaks very well for you that you’re so fond of your old home—­so anxious to regain it at any cost.  It’s quite touching, Mr. Woods.”

She raised her eyes toward his.  I dare say she was suffering as much as he.  But women consider it a point of honour to smile when they stab; Margaret smiled with an innocence that would have seemed overdone in an angel.

Then, in an instant, she had the grace to be abjectly ashamed of herself.  Billy’s face had gone white.  His mouth was set, mask-like, and his breathing was a little perfunctory.  It stung her, though, that he was not angry.  He was sorry.