“Lord Rufford, what does this mean?”

“Don’t you know what it means?”

“Hardly.”

“It means that I think you the jolliest girl out.  I never liked anybody so well as I do you.”

“Perhaps you never liked anybody,” said she.

“Well;—­yes, I have; but I am not going to boast of what fortune has done for me in that way.  I wonder whether you care for me?”

“Do you want to know?”

“I should like to know that you did.”

“Because you have never asked me.”

“Am I not asking you now, Bella?”

“There are different ways of asking,—­but there is only one way that will get an answer from me.  No;—­no.  I will not have it.  I have allowed too much to you already.  Oh, I am so tired.”  Then she sank back almost into his arms,—­but recovered herself very quickly.  “Lord Rufford,” she said, “if you are a man of honour let there be an end of this.  I am sure you do not wish to make me wretched.”

“I would do anything to make you happy.”

“Then tell me that you love me honestly, sincerely, with all your heart,—­and I shall be happy.”

“You know I do.”

“Do you?  Do you?” she said, and then she flung herself on to his shoulder, and for a while she seemed to faint.  For a few minutes she lay there and as she was lying she calculated whether it would be better to try at this moment to drive him to some clearer declaration, or to make use of what he had already said without giving him an opportunity of protesting that he had not meant to make her an offer of marriage.  He had declared that he loved her honestly and with his whole heart.  Would not that justify her in setting her uncle at him?  And might it not be that the Duke would carry great weight with him;—­that the Duke might induce him to utter the fatal word though she, were she to demand it now, might fail?  As she thought of it all she affected to swoon, and almost herself believed that she was swooning.  She was conscious but hardly more than conscious that he was kissing her;—­and yet her brain was at work.  She felt that he would be startled, repelled, perhaps disgusted were she absolutely to demand more from him now.  “Oh, Rufford;—­oh, my dearest,” she said as she woke up, and with her face close to his, so that he could look into her eyes and see their brightness even through the gloom.  Then she extricated herself from his embrace with a shudder and a laugh.  “You would hardly believe how tired I am,” she said putting out her ungloved hand.  He took it and drew her to him and there she sat in his arms for the short remainder of the journey.

They were now in the park, and as the lights of the house came in sight he gave her some counsel.  “Go up to your room at once, dearest, and lay down.”

“I will.  I don’t think I could go in among them.  I should fall.”

“I will see the Duchess and tell her that you are all right, but very tired.  If she goes up to you had better see her.”