“I daresay it’s rather bad form my coming and saying all this so soon, but I can’t help that.  I know you must have gone through an awful lot in the last month or two—­perhaps even longer—­but I don’t know about that.  And I want to begin by apologizing if I am doing what I shouldn’t.  The fact is that—­well, that I daren’t risk waiting.”

He did not look at Jenny (he was observing the robin that had gone and come again since Jenny had appeared), but he was aware that at his first sentence she had suddenly settled down into complete motionlessness.  He wondered whether that was a good omen or not.

“Well, now,” he said, “let me give a little account of myself first.  I’m just thirty-one; I’ve got four hundred a year of my own, and Lord Talgarth allows me twelve hundred a year more.  Then I’ve got other expectations, as they say.  My uncle gives me to understand that my allowance is secured to me in his will; and I’m the heir of my aunt, Lady Simon, whom you’ve probably met.  I just mention that to show I’m not a pauper—­”

“Mr. Guiseley—­” began Jenny.

“Please wait.  I’ve not done yet.  Do you mind? ...  I’m a decent living man.  I’m not spotless, but I’ll answer any questions you like to put—­to your father.  I’ve not got any profession, though I’m supposed to be a solicitor; but I’m perfectly willing to work if ... if it’s wished, or to stand for Parliament, or anything like that—­there hasn’t, so far, seemed any real, particular reason why I should work.  That’s all.  And I think you know the sort of person I am, all round.

“And now we come to the point.” (Dick hesitated a fraction of a second.  He was genuinely moved.) “The point is that I’m in love with you, and I have been for some time past.  I ...  I can’t put it more plainly ... (One moment, please, I’ve nearly done.) ...  I can’t think of anything else; and I haven’t been able to for the last two or three months.  I ...  I ...  I’m fearfully sorry for poor old Frank; I’m very fond of him, you know, but I couldn’t help finding it an extraordinary relief when I heard the news.  And now I’ve come to ask you, perfectly straight, whether you’ll consent to be my wife.”

Dick looked at her for the first time since he had begun his little speech.

She still sat absolutely quiet (she had not even moved at the two words she had uttered), but she had gone paler still.  Her mouth was in repose, without quiver or movement, and her beautiful eyes looked steadily on to the lawn before her.  She said nothing.

“If you can’t give me an answer quite at once,” began Dick again presently, “I’m perfectly willing to—­”

She turned and looked him courageously in the face.

“I can’t say ‘Yes,’” she said.  “That would be absurd....  You have been quite straightforward with me, and I must be straightforward with you.  That is what you wish, isn’t it?”

Dick inclined his head.  His heart was thumping furiously with exultation—­in spite of her words.