There was a clearness of expression in this, and a downright surrender of himself, which so flattered her and so fluttered her that she was almost reduced to the giving of herself up because she could not reply to such an appeal in language less courteous than that of agreement.  After a moment or two she found herself remaining silent, with a growing feeling that silence would be taken as conveying consent.  There floated quickly across her brain an idea of the hardness of a woman’s lot, in that she should be called upon to decide her future fate for life in half a minute.  He had had weeks to think of this, weeks in which it would have been almost unmaidenly in her so to think of it as to have made up her mind to accept the man.  Had she so made up her mind, and had he not come to her, where would she have been then?  But he had come to her.  There he was, still poking about with his stick, waiting for her, and she must answer him.  And he was the eldest son of a peer, an enormous match for her, very proper in all respects; such a man, that if she should accept him, everybody around her would regard her fortune in life as miraculously successful.  He was not such a man that anyone would point at her and say ’there; see another of them who has sold herself for money and a title!’ Mr Glascock was not an Apollo, not an admirable Crichton; but he was a man whom any girl might have learned to love.  Now he had asked her to be his wife, and it was necessary that she should answer him.  He sat there waiting for her very patiently, still poking about the point of his stick.

Did she really love him?  Though she was so pressed by consideration of time, she did find a moment in which to ask herself the question.  With a quick turn of an eye she glanced at him, to see what he was like.  Up to this moment, though she knew him well, she could have given no details of his personal appearance.  He was a better-looking man than Hugh Stanbury, so she told herself with a passing thought; but he lacked, he lacked; what was it that he lacked?  Was it youth, or spirit, or strength; or was it some outward sign of an inward gift of mind?  Was it that he was heavy while Hugh was light?  Was it that she could find no fire in his eye, while Hugh’s eyes were full of flashing?  Or was it that for her, especially for her, Hugh was the appointed staff and appropriate wall of protection?  Be all that as it might, she knew at the moment that she did love, not this man, but that other who was writing articles for the Daily Record.  She must refuse the offer that was so brilliant, and give up the idea of reigning as queen at Monkhams.

‘Oh, Mr Glascock,’ she said, ‘I ought to answer you more quickly.’

’No, dearest; not more quickly than suits you.  Nothing ever in this world can be more important both to you and to me.  If you want more time to think of it, take more time.’

’No, Mr Glascock; I do not.  I don’t know why I should have paused.  Is not the truth best?’