What if speech did more mischief than silence? Irresolutely she wavered, and to her indecision there came suddenly the further disturbing thought--if Barry acceded to her earnest wish what ground had she for pre-supposing that it would result in his happiness? She had no definite knowledge, no positive assurance wherewith to press her request. The inmost feelings of both were hidden from her. Her meddling might only bring more sorrow to him who seemed already weighed down under a crushing burden of grief. Gratitude and an intense admiration she knew existed. But between admiration and any deeper feeling there was a wide gulf. And yet what might not be hidden behind the grave seriousness of those great dark eyes that looked with apparently equal frankness at every member of the household? Months spent in the proximity of an unusually handsome man, the romance of the tie between them--it was an experience that any woman, least of all an unsophisticated convent-bred girl, could hardly pass through unscathed. It was surely enough to gamble on, she reflected with grim humour that did not amuse. It was a great hazzard, the highest stakes she had ever played for who had never been afraid of losing. The thought spurred her. If it was to be the last throw then let there be no hesitation. A reputation for courage and coolness had gone with her through life.
She turned to him abruptly, all indecision gone, complete mistress of herself again.
"Barry, don't you understand?" she said with slow distinctness. "I want you to ask Gillian to marry you."
He started as if she had stabbed him.
"Good God," he cried violently, "you don't know what you are saying!" And from his tortured face she averted her eyes hastily, sick at heart. But she held her ground, aware that retreat was not now possible.
She answered gently, steadying her voice with difficulty.
"Is it so extraordinary that I should wish it, should hope for it? I care for you both so deeply. To know that your mother's place would be filled by one who is worthy to follow her--how worthy only I, who have been admitted to her high ideals, appreciate; to know that there would be the happiness of home ties here for you, to know that I leave Gillian safe in your hands--it would make my going very easy, Barry."
His head was down on his arms on the mantelshelf, his face hidden from her. "Gillian--safe--in my hands--my God!" he groaned, and shuddered like a man in mortal agony.
All the deep love she had for him, all the fears she entertained for him leaped up in her with sudden strength, forcing utterance and breaking down the reticence she had imposed upon herself. She caught his arm.