“If you really suppose,” Rosa pleads with him, turning paler, “that I favour Mr. Landless, or that Mr. Landless has ever in any way addressed himself to me, you are wrong.”
He puts that from him with a slighting action of his hand and a curled lip.
“I was going to show you how madly I love you. More madly now than ever, for I am willing to renounce the second object that has arisen in my life to divide it with you; and henceforth to have no object in existence but you only. Miss Landless has become your bosom friend. You care for her peace of mind?”
“I love her dearly.”
“You care for her good name?”
“I have said, sir, I love her dearly.”
“I am unconsciously,” he observes with a smile, as he folds his hands upon the sundial and leans his chin upon them, so that his talk would seem from the windows (faces occasionally come and go there) to be of the airiest and playfullest—“I am unconsciously giving offence by questioning again. I will simply make statements, therefore, and not put questions. You do care for your bosom friend’s good name, and you do care for her peace of mind. Then remove the shadow of the gallows from her, dear one!”
“You dare propose to me to—”
“Darling, I dare propose to you. Stop there. If it be bad to idolise you, I am the worst of men; if it be good, I am the best. My love for you is above all other love, and my truth to you is above all other truth. Let me have hope and favour, and I am a forsworn man for your sake.”