“What nonsense!” she said scornfully. “I have known several who were most amiable! And no female is commonly afflicted with gout, which most old gentlemen are, I find. It makes them insupportably cross!”
“The gentleman I have in mind is not afflicted with gout, and I am persuaded you would find him amiable, and—and compliant.”
“Indeed?” said Kate, stiffening. “And how old is this gentleman, sir?”
“Nine-and-twenty. But very nearly thirty!” he replied.
Since she knew this to be his own age, she could not doubt that he meant himself, and was making her an offer. But what kind of an offer it was remained a matter of painful doubt. He knew her to be friendless and penniless, and it was possible that he was offering her a carte blanche, meaning to set her up as his mistress; it seemed very unlikely that he wished to marry her, for (as she dismally reminded herself) she had nothing but a pretty face to recommend her. She felt suddenly that if that was what he meant it would be more than she could bear; and realized that it would be one more illusion shattered. She had not allowed herself to hope that he would offer marriage, for she knew herself to be ineligible; she was not even sure that he loved her. He had certainly revised his first, unfavourable estimate of her character; and when he looked at her she could fancy there was a warm, appreciative light in his eyes. But he was not a man who wore his heart on his sleeve: indeed, if it was possible to detect a fault in him, thought Kate, sternly resolved to do so, he had too much reserve. Not, of course, a stupid sort of indifference, but a coolness of manner, which made it hard to know what he was thinking.
Doggedly determined not to betray herself, she said, in a light voice, which she hoped expressed contemptuous amusement: “I won’t pretend to play the dunce, sir. I assume that you are talking about yourself. I don’t find it diverting!”
“I was talking about myself, and I am extremely glad you don’t find it diverting!” he said, with some asperity.
Her heart began to beat uncomfortably fast, and she could feel the colour mounting into her cheeks. She turned her face away, saying: “This is quite improper, sir! I told my aunt that you showed no disposition to flirt with me, and I believed it!”
“So I should hope! For God’s sake, Kate!—I’m not fluting with you! I’m trying to tell you that I love you!”
“Oh!” uttered Kate faintly.
Mr Philip Broome, indignant at being given so little encouragement, said in a goaded voice: “Now say you’re much obliged to me!”
“I don’t know that I am,” responded Kate, almost inaudibly. “I—I don’t know what you mean!”
With all the air of a deeply reticent man forced to declare his sentiments, he said: “Exactly what I said! I LOVE YOU!”
“You needn’t shout! I’m not deaf!” retorted Kate, with spirit.
“I was afraid you might be! I could hardly have put it more plainly! And all you can say is Oh! As though it was a matter of no consequence to you! If you feel that you can’t return my—my regard, tell me so! I’ve dared to hope, but I was prepared to have my offer rejected, and although it would be a severe blow, I trust I have enough conduct not to embarrass you by persisting!”
“You—you haven’t made me an offer!” said Kate. She added hurriedly, and in considerable confusion: “I don’t in the least wish you to! I mean, I would far, far liefer you didn’t if you are trying to—Oh, dear, how very awkward this is! Mr Broome, pray don’t offer me a carte blanche!”
“A carte blanche?” he exclaimed, apparently stunned.
By this time she was crimson-cheeked. She stammered: “Is—isn’t that the right term?”
“No, it is not the right term!” he said savagely, drawing his horses in to the side of the lane, and pulling them to a halt. “What kind of a loose-screw do you take me for? Offer a carte blanche to a delicately bred girl in your circumstances? You must think I’m an ugly customer!”
“Oh, no, no! Indeed I don’t!”
He possesed himself of her hands, and held them in a hard grip. “I am proposing to you, Kate! Will you marry me?”
Her hands instinctively clung to his; a happiness she had never known before flooded her being; but she said foolishly: “Oh, no! Don’t! You can’t have considered—Oh, dear, how improper this is!”
Mr Philip Broome, after one swift glance round, dragged her roughly into his arms and kissed her. For a delirious moment Kate yielded, but every precept that Sarah had drummed into her head shrieked to her that she was violating every canon of propriety, and behaving without delicacy or conduct. She made a desperate attempt to thrust him away, uttering an inarticulate protest. He released her with unexpected alacrity, ejaculating: “I might have known it!” and set his horses in motion again. “That’s what comes of proposing in a curricle! Straighten your bonnet, Kate, for the Lord’s sake!”
She had suffered a severe shock at being so brusquely repulsed, but she now saw that Mr Philip Broome had not experienced a change of heart. A couple of people had come round a sharp bend in the lane, and were advancing slowly towards them. From their attire, Kate judged them to be members of the fanning fraternity; and from the circumstances of the young man’s arm being round the girl’s waist, and his head bent fondly over hers, it seemed safe to assume that they were a courting couple. They were wholly absorbed in each other, and cast no more than cursory, incurious glances at the curricle.
“Phew!” whistled Philip, as soon as the curricle was out of earshot. “It’s to be hoped they didn’t see!”
“Yes, it is!” Kate agreed warmly. “And if they did, it serves me right for behaving like a—like a straw-damsel!
“
Chapter XIII
Mr Philip Broome burst out laughing. “Oh, Kate, you enchanting rogue! Where did you learn that? Not from Mr Nidd, I’ll swear!”
In consternation she said: “No, no! It was very bad of me to have said it! The thing is I couldn’t think of a more genteel way of putting it, and for some reason or other the expression stuck in my memory, and—and sprang to my tongue! I heard one of Papa’s men say it—oh, years ago, and asked Papa what it meant. He burst out laughing too. But he did tell me, and warn me not to say it, so I have no excuse, and I beg your pardon.”
“You may say anything you please to me, my love. I hope you will.”
She had been smiling, but these words brought her back to earth, and she said, in a troubled voice: “I don’t think—I don’t think you ought to make me an offer!”
“No, it’s quite improper, of course,” he said cheerfully. “Before addressing myself to you, I ought to ask permission of your father, or your mother, or your guardian, but as you haven’t a father, or a mother, or a guardian, I do trust you’ll overlook the irregularity! Something seems to tell me that if I were to apply to Minerva she would send me to the rightabout! Do you feel you could, without sinking yourself beneath reproach, tell me if you could bring yourself to marry me?”
“Not—not without sinking myself beneath reproach!” she answered sadly.
Taken aback, he demanded: “Now, what the devil?—”
She resolutely raised her eyes to his face, and managed to say: “I believe you haven’t understood my circumstances. You shouldn’t be proposing to a female of no fortune, or to one whose relations don’t own her! Your family must surely oppose such an unequal match! You see, I haven’t sixpence to scratch with. I am a pauper!”
“I call that a very grandiloquent way of putting it!” he objected. “As for saying you haven’t sixpence to scratch with!—Well, that’s the outside of enough! A shockingly ungenteel expression, let me tell you, my little love, and one that I never thought to hear on your lips!”