“Oh, Percy, you frighten me,” said the young lady, whose wrath was clearly being mollified by his persuasive words—­or perhaps by other considerations.  “I couldn’t think of such a thing!  Oh, no, no!  What would my people say?  And what would the public say, when it all came out?”

“I only offered the suggestion,” said he, submissively.  “It would be making everything sure, that was all.  But I can quite understand that a young lady would rather have a grand wedding, and presents, and a list of friends in the Morning Post:  well, I don’t insist; it was only a fancy I had last night in the train, but I am sure I would rather study your wishes in every respect.”

She stood silent for a little time, he intently waiting her answer.

“It is too serious a matter for me to decide by myself,” she said, at last, in a low voice.

“But who else has any right to interfere?” he exclaimed.  “Why should you not decide for yourself?  You know I love you—­you have seen it? and I have waited and waited, and borne with a good deal.  But then I was hardly in a position to demand an answer; there would have been some risk on your part, and I hesitated.  Now there can be none.  Dear Kate, you are going to say one word!—­and I shall go away down to all this sad business that lies before me with a secret comfort that none of them will suspect.”

“It is too sudden, Percy,” she said, lingeringly; “I must have time to consider.”

“What have you to consider?” he remonstrated.

“A great many things,” she said, evasively.  “You don’t know how a girl is situated.  Here is papa coming to town this very morning; Jim and Cicely have gone up to Paddington to meet him.  Well, I don’t know how he might regard it.  If you wanted me to leave the theatre altogether, it would make a great difference; I do a good deal for Jim and Cicely.”

“But, Katie,” he said, and he took her hand in spite of her, “these are only matters of business!  Do you think I can’t make all that straight?  Say yes!”—­and he strove to draw her towards him, and would have kissed her, but that she withdrew a step, with her cheeks flushing prettily through the thin make-up of the morning.

“You must give me time, Percy,” she said, with downcast eyes.  “I must know what papa says.”

“What time?”

“Well—­a week,” she said.

“A week be it:  I won’t worry you beyond your patience, dear Kate,” said this infatuated young man.  “But I know what you will have to say then—­to make me the happiest of human beings alive on this earth.  Good-bye, dearest!”

And with that he respectfully kissed her hand and took his leave; and so soon as she was sure he was out of the house she rang for breakfast, and called down to the little maid to look sharp with it, too.  She was startled and pleased in one direction, and, in another, perhaps a trifle vexed; for what business had any man coming bothering her with a proposal of marriage before breakfast?  How could she help displaying a little temper, when she was hungry and he over pertinacious?  Yet she hoped she had not been too outspoken in her anger, for there were visions before her mind that somehow seemed agreeable.