He never even asked himself whether permanent happiness was
likely to spring from this love: he was self-indulgent, reckless, and in
love.
He looked at her, wished he could recall his whole life, and sighed.
"Why do you sigh?" said she, gently.
"I don't know. Yes, I do. Because I am not happy."
"Not happy?" said she. "You ought to be; and I am sure you deserve to
be."
"I don't know that. However, I think I shall be happier in a few minutes,
or else very unhappy indeed. That depends on you."
"On me, Mr. Severne?" and she blushed crimson, and her bosom began to
heave. His words led her to expect a declaration and a proposal of
marriage.
He saw her mistake; and her emotion spoke so plainly and sweetly, and
tried him so, that it cost him a great effort not to clasp her in his
arms. But that was not his cue at present. He lowered his eyes, to give
her time, and said, sadly, "I cannot help seeing that, somehow, there is
suspicion in the air about me. Miss Maitland puts questions, and drops
hints. Miss Dover watches me like a lynx. Even you gave me a hint the
other day that I never talk to you about my relations, and my past life.
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