But how
this supreme moment would turn--if, indeed, the supreme moment had
arrived--Sir James had no idea.
Marsham closed the door behind him, and in the lamplight the two men
looked at each other. Marsham's brow was furrowed, his cheeks pale. His
eyes, restless and bright, interrogated his old friend. At the first
glance Sir James understood. He thrust his hands into his pockets.
"You know?" he said, under his breath.
Marsham nodded.
"And you--have known it all along?"
"From the first moment, almost, that I set eyes on that poor child. Does
_she_ know? Have you broken it to her?"
The questions hurried on each other's heels. Marsham shook his head, and
Sir James, turning away, made a sound that was almost a groan.
"You have proposed to her?"
"Yes."
"And she has accepted you?"
"Yes." Marsham walked to the mantel-piece, and hung over the fire.
Sir James watched him for a moment, twisting his mouth. Then he walked
up to his companion and laid a hand on his arm.
"Stick it out, Oliver!" he said, breathing quick. "Stick it out! You'll
have to fight--but she's worth it."
Marsham's hand groped for his. Sir James pressed it, and walked away
again, his eyes on the carpet.
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