“Don’t suppose I object to this little stratagem,” Arnold went on.  “I am serving my old friend, and I am helping the lady who is soon to be his wife.”

Anne rose abruptly to her feet, and amazed him by a very unexpected question.

“Mr. Brinkworth,” she said, “forgive me the rudeness of something I am about to say to you.  When are you going away?”

Arnold burst out laughing.

“When I am quite sure I can do nothing more to assist you,” he answered.

“Pray don’t think of me any longer.”

“In your situation! who else am I to think of?”

Anne laid her hand earnestly on his arm, and answered: 

“Blanche!”

“Blanche?” repeated Arnold, utterly at a loss to understand her.

“Yes—­Blanche.  She found time to tell me what had passed between you this morning before I left Windygates.  I know you have made her an offer:  I know you are engaged to be married to her.”

Arnold was delighted to hear it.  He had been merely unwilling to leave her thus far.  He was absolutely determined to stay with her now.

“Don’t expect me to go after that!” he said.  “Come and sit down again, and let’s talk about Blanche.”

Anne declined impatiently, by a gesture.  Arnold was too deeply interested in the new topic to take any notice of it.

“You know all about her habits and her tastes,” he went on, “and what she likes, and what she dislikes.  It’s most important that I should talk to you about her.  When we are husband and wife, Blanche is to have all her own way in every thing.  That’s my idea of the Whole Duty of Man—­when Man is married.  You are still standing?  Let me give you a chair.”

It was cruel—­under other circumstances it would have been impossible—­to disappoint him.  But the vague fear of consequences which had taken possession of Anne was not to be trifled with.  She had no clear conception of the risk (and it is to be added, in justice to Geoffrey, that he had no clear conception of the risk) on which Arnold had unconsciously ventured, in undertaking his errand to the inn.  Neither of them had any adequate idea (few people have) of the infamous absence of all needful warning, of all decent precaution and restraint, which makes the marriage law of Scotland a trap to catch unmarried men and women, to this day.  But, while Geoffrey’s mind was incapable of looking beyond the present emergency, Anne’s finer intelligence told her that a country which offered such facilities for private marriage as the facilities of which she had proposed to take advantage in her own case, was not a country in which a man could act as Arnold had acted, without danger of some serious embarrassment following as the possible result.  With this motive to animate her, she resolutely declined to take the offered chair, or to enter into the proposed conversation.

“Whatever we have to say about Blanche, Mr. Brinkworth, must be said at some fitter time.  I beg you will leave me.”