It was said with profound meaning; but his face was as usual.

“That is what I thought,” she said, in all good faith.

“You do not even understand!” he cried, and he was also looking longingly at his hat.

“Understand what?”

“Jerry,” he said, and tried to stop himself, with the result that he added, “dear little Jerry!” ("What am I doing!” he groaned.)

She understood now.  “You don’t mean—­” she began, in amazement.

“Yes,” he cried passionately.  “I love you.  Will you be my wife?” ("I am lost!”)

“Gracious!” exclaimed Mrs. Jerry; and then, on reflection, she became indignant.  “I would not have believed it of you,” she said scornfully.  “Is it my money, or what?  I am not at all clever, so you must tell me.”

With Tommy, of course, it was not her money.  Except when he had Elspeth to consider, he was as much a Quixote about money as Pym himself; and at no moment of his life was he a snob.

“I am sorry you should think so meanly of me,” he said with dignity, lifting his hat; and he would have got away then (which, when you come to think of it, was what he wanted) had he been able to resist an impulse to heave a broken-hearted sigh at the door.

“Don’t go yet, Mr. Sandys,” she begged.  “I may have been hasty.  And yet—­why, we are merely acquaintances!”

He had meant to be very careful now, but that word sent him off again.  “Acquaintances!” he cried.  “No, we were never that.”

“It almost seemed to me that you avoided me.”

“You noticed it!” he said eagerly.  “At least, you do me that justice.  Oh, how I tried to avoid you!”

“It was because—­”

“Alas!”

She was touched, of course, but still puzzled.  “We know so little of each other,” she said.

“I see,” he replied, “that you know me very little, Mrs. Jerry; but you—­oh, Jerry, Jerry!  I know you as no other man has ever known you!”

“I wish I had proof of it,” she said helplessly.

Proof!  She should not have asked Tommy for proof.  “I know,” he cried, “how unlike all other women you are.  To the world you are like the rest, but in your heart you know that you are different; you know it, and I know it, and no other person knows it.”

Yes, Mrs. Jerry knew it, and had often marvelled over it in the seclusion of her boudoir; but that another should have found it out was strange and almost terrifying.

“I know you love me now,” she said softly.  “Only love could have shown you that.  But—­oh, let me go away for a minute to think!” And she ran out of the room.

Other suitors have been left for a space in Tommy’s state of doubt, but never, it may be hoped, with the same emotions.  Oh, heavens! if she should accept him!  He saw Elspeth sickening and dying of the news.

His guardian angel, however, was very good to Tommy at this time; or perhaps, like cannibals with their prisoner, the god of sentiment (who has a tail) was fattening him for a future feast; and Mrs. Jerry’s answer was that it could never be.