erved, steady kind of question in her eyes. (I am sorry to be obliged
to go on saying this sort of thing about Jenny every time she comes upon
the scene; but it is the sort of thing that everyone is obliged to go on
thinking whenever she makes her appearance.)

"I've got a good deal to say," said Dick, after they had sat a moment
or two. "May I say it right out to the end?"

"Why, certainly," said Jenny.

Dick leaned back and crossed one knee over the other. His manner was
exactly right--at any rate, it was exactly what he wished it to be, and
all through his little speech he preserved it. It was quite restrained,
extremely civilized, and not at all artificial. It was his method of
presenting a fact--the fact that he really was in love with this
girl--and was in his best manner. There was a lightness of touch about
this method of his, but it was only on the surface.

"I daresay it's rather bad form my coming and saying all this so soon,
but I can't help that. I know you must have gone through an awful lot in
the last month or two--perhaps even longer--but I don't know about that.
And I want to begin by apologizing if I am doing what I shouldn't. The
fact is that--well, that I daren't risk waiting."

He did not look at Jenny (he was observing the robin that had gone and
come again since Jenny had appeared), but he was aware that at his first
sentence she had suddenly settled down into complete motionlessness. He
wondered whether that was a good omen or not.

"Well, now," he said, "let me give a little account of myself first. I'm
just thirty-one; I've got four hundred a year of my own, and Lord
Talgarth allows me twelve hundred a year more. Then I've got other
expectations, as they say. My uncle gives me to understand that my
allowance is secured to me in his will; and I'm the heir of my aunt,
Lady Simon, whom you've probably met. I just mention that to show I'm
not a pauper--"

"Mr. Guiseley--" began Jenny.

"Please wait. I've not done yet. Do you mind? ... I'm a decent living
man. I'm not spotless, but I'll answer any questions you like to put--to
your father. I've not got any profession, though I'm supposed to be a
solicitor; but I'm perfectly willing to work if ... if it's wished, or
to stand for Parliament, or anything like that--there hasn't, so far,
seemed any real, particular reason why I should work. That's all. And I
think you know the sort of person I am, all round.

"And now we come to the point." (