few minutes he had succeeded in sweeping the reluctant lady out of the room, saying, with obvious mendacity, that both she and he would be back in a trice.
The situation was awkward, and was not rendered less so by Miss Chawleigh’s embarrassment. It rendered her scarlet-faced and tongue-tied; and when Adam made some light remark to bridge the awkward moment she did not respond, but, raising her eyes to his face in a stricken look, blurted out: ‘I’m sorry!’ before turning away, her hands pressed to her burning cheeks.
For a moment his only feeling was one of vexation with her for having so little address. She had only to respond to his lead, and the situation could have been carried off. Her look of consciousness, the words she had uttered, even the hasty way she turned from him, made this impossible. Had she not been so unmistakably distressed he could almost have suspected her of trying to force his hand.
She had walked away to the fire, and after a struggle to regain her composure, she said: ‘It is – it is the greatest imposition to be obliged to admire my drawings; and to have them displayed to visitors – is what I particularly dislike! But Papa – You see, nothing will deter him! I – I am so sorry!’
He recognized a gallant, if belated, attempt to pass the thing off, and his vexation died. He hesitated, and then said: ‘Miss Chawleigh, would you prefer me to agree that it is a sore trial to have one’s sketches shown-off, or – or to say, quite frankly, that I don’t think any two persons can ever have found themselves in such an embarrassing fix as this?’
‘Oh, no! so mortifying!’ she said, in a stifled voice. ‘I didn’t know that – that Papa had the intention – tonight – so soon – !’
‘Nor I, indeed! But he has done it, and it would be foolish in either of us, don’t you think? to pretend not to understand why we have been pitchforked together.’ He saw her nod; and continued, not easily, but with a good deal of earnestness: ‘I wish you will be open with me. Your father is trying to make a match between us, but you don’t like it, do you? You needn’t be afraid of telling me so: how should you like it, when we are barely acquainted? My fear is that you have been compelled to entertain me tonight against your wish. Believe me, you have only to tell me that this is so, and the affair shall go no further!’
This frankness steadied her. She had been standing with her back to him, looking down into the fire, but she turned now, and replied, in a low tone: ‘I wasn’t compelled. Papa wouldn’t do so. I know it must appear – and he does like to rule the roast – but he is too fond of me to constrain me, and – and too kind, even though he may seem, sometimes, a – little overbearing.’
He smiled. ‘Yes, a benevolent despot, which is, perhaps, the worst sort of tyrant, because the hardest to withstand! Where all is being done with the best of intentions – and by a parent, to whom one must owe obedience – it seems almost monstrous to rebel!’
Her flush had faded; she was even rather pale. ‘I should be reluctant to do so, but if it were necessary, in such a matter as this, I – I should rebel. That’s not the case. He wishes me to marry you, my lord: he doesn’t compel me.’
There was a faint frown on his brow; he regarded her intently, trying to read her face. ‘The tyranny of affection?’
She shook her head. ‘No. It would grieve me to disappoint him, but I shouldn’t hesitate, if – if my affections were already engaged, or I disliked the scheme.’ This was spoken calmly, but with an effort. She moved towards a chair, and sat down. ‘You asked me to be open with you, my lord. I don’t dislike it. If you think – if you feel you could bear –’ She checked, and went on after a tiny pause. ‘I’m not romantic. I perfectly understand the – the circumstances, and don’t expect – You said yourself that we are barely acquainted.’
He
The situation was awkward, and was not rendered less so by Miss Chawleigh’s embarrassment. It rendered her scarlet-faced and tongue-tied; and when Adam made some light remark to bridge the awkward moment she did not respond, but, raising her eyes to his face in a stricken look, blurted out: ‘I’m sorry!’ before turning away, her hands pressed to her burning cheeks.
For a moment his only feeling was one of vexation with her for having so little address. She had only to respond to his lead, and the situation could have been carried off. Her look of consciousness, the words she had uttered, even the hasty way she turned from him, made this impossible. Had she not been so unmistakably distressed he could almost have suspected her of trying to force his hand.
She had walked away to the fire, and after a struggle to regain her composure, she said: ‘It is – it is the greatest imposition to be obliged to admire my drawings; and to have them displayed to visitors – is what I particularly dislike! But Papa – You see, nothing will deter him! I – I am so sorry!’
He recognized a gallant, if belated, attempt to pass the thing off, and his vexation died. He hesitated, and then said: ‘Miss Chawleigh, would you prefer me to agree that it is a sore trial to have one’s sketches shown-off, or – or to say, quite frankly, that I don’t think any two persons can ever have found themselves in such an embarrassing fix as this?’
‘Oh, no! so mortifying!’ she said, in a stifled voice. ‘I didn’t know that – that Papa had the intention – tonight – so soon – !’
‘Nor I, indeed! But he has done it, and it would be foolish in either of us, don’t you think? to pretend not to understand why we have been pitchforked together.’ He saw her nod; and continued, not easily, but with a good deal of earnestness: ‘I wish you will be open with me. Your father is trying to make a match between us, but you don’t like it, do you? You needn’t be afraid of telling me so: how should you like it, when we are barely acquainted? My fear is that you have been compelled to entertain me tonight against your wish. Believe me, you have only to tell me that this is so, and the affair shall go no further!’
This frankness steadied her. She had been standing with her back to him, looking down into the fire, but she turned now, and replied, in a low tone: ‘I wasn’t compelled. Papa wouldn’t do so. I know it must appear – and he does like to rule the roast – but he is too fond of me to constrain me, and – and too kind, even though he may seem, sometimes, a – little overbearing.’
He smiled. ‘Yes, a benevolent despot, which is, perhaps, the worst sort of tyrant, because the hardest to withstand! Where all is being done with the best of intentions – and by a parent, to whom one must owe obedience – it seems almost monstrous to rebel!’
Her flush had faded; she was even rather pale. ‘I should be reluctant to do so, but if it were necessary, in such a matter as this, I – I should rebel. That’s not the case. He wishes me to marry you, my lord: he doesn’t compel me.’
There was a faint frown on his brow; he regarded her intently, trying to read her face. ‘The tyranny of affection?’
She shook her head. ‘No. It would grieve me to disappoint him, but I shouldn’t hesitate, if – if my affections were already engaged, or I disliked the scheme.’ This was spoken calmly, but with an effort. She moved towards a chair, and sat down. ‘You asked me to be open with you, my lord. I don’t dislike it. If you think – if you feel you could bear –’ She checked, and went on after a tiny pause. ‘I’m not romantic. I perfectly understand the – the circumstances, and don’t expect – You said yourself that we are barely acquainted.’
He
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