He sat down beside her.  Her dark head covered with its silky curls, her very black eyes and arched brows in her small pink face, the pointed chin, and tiny mouth, made a very winning figure of her, as she sat there, under a garden vase, and an overhanging yew.  And that, although the shawl was huddled round her shoulders, and the eyes were red with tears.

“You will be able to do anything you like, Felicia.  You will be terribly rich.”

She gazed at him, the storm in her breast subsiding a little.

“How rich?” she asked him, pouting.

He tried to give her some idea.  She sighed.  “It’s dreadful!  What shall I do with it all!”

Then as her eyes still searched him, he saw them change—­first to soft—­then wild.  Her colour flamed.  She moved farther from him, and tried to put on a businesslike air.

“I want to ask a question.”

“Ask it.”

“Am I—­am I as rich as any girl you would be likely to marry?”

“What an odd question!  Do you think I want money?”

“I know you don’t!” she said, with a wail.  “That’s what’s so horrid!  Why can’t you all leave me alone?”

Then recovering herself fiercely, she began again: 

“In my country—­in Italy—­when two people are about equally rich—­a man and a girl—­their relations go and talk to each other.  They say, ’Will it suit you?’—­the man has so much—­the girl has so much—­they like each other—­and—­wouldn’t it do very well!”

She sprang up.  Tatham had flushed.  He looked at her in speechless amazement.  She stood opposite him, making herself as tall as she could, her hands behind her.

“Lord Tatham—­my mother is ill—­my father is dead.  You’re not my guardian yet—­and I don’t think I’ll ever let you be!  So there’s nobody but me to do it.  I’m sorry—­I know it’s not quite right, quite—­quite English.  Well, any way!  Lord Tatham, you say I have a dot!  So that’s all right.  There’s my hand.  Will you marry me?”

She held it out.  All her excitement had gone, and her colour.  She was very pale, and quite calm.

“My dear Felicia!” cried Tatham, in agitation, taking the hand, “what a position to put your guardian in!  You are a great heiress.  I can’t run off with you like this—­before you’ve had any other chances—­before you’ve seen anybody else.”

“If you don’t, I won’t take a farthing!  What good would it be to me!”

She came closer, and put her little hands on his shoulders as he sat—­the centre of one of those sudden tumults of sense and spirit that sweep a strong man from his feet.

“Oh, won’t you take care of me?  I love you so!”

It was a cry of Nature.  Tatham gave a great gulp, put out his arms, and caught her.  There she was on the bench beside him, laughing and sobbing, gathered against his heart.

The cheerful December day shone upon them:  a robin sang in the yew tree overhead....