"Too much interested," said Sir John, bluntly. "I'll tell her she'll be an out and out Radical by and by. You know she has a nice little place of her own just outside Vanebury, and she vows she'll go and live there when she is twenty-one, and work for the good of the people. My authority over her will cease entirely when she is of age."

"But not your influence," said Sydney.

"Well--I don't know that I have very much. The proper person to influence Nan will be her husband, when she has one."

"If I were not a poor man----" Sydney began impulsively, and then stopped short. But a good-humored curl of Sir John's mouth, an inquiring twinkle in his eye, told him that he must proceed. So, in five minutes, his proposal was made, and a good deal earlier than he had expected it to be. It must be confessed that Sir John had led him on. And Sir John was unfeignedly delighted, though he tried to pretend doubt and indifference.

"Of course I can't answer for my sister, and she is full young to make her choice. But I can a.s.sure you, Campion, there's no man living to whom I would sooner see her married than to yourself," he said at the conclusion of the interview. And then he asked Sydney to dinner, and went home to pour the story into the ears of his wife.

Lady Pynsent was not so much pleased as was he. She had had visions of a t.i.tle for her sister-in-law, and thought that Nan would be throwing herself away if she married Sydney Campion, although he was a rising man, and would certainly be solicitor-general before long.

"Well, Nan will have to decide for herself," said Sir John, evading his wife's remonstrances. "After all, I couldn't refuse the man for her, could I?" He did not say that he had tried to lead the backward lover on.

"Yes, you could," said Lady Pynsent. "You could have told him it was out of the question. But the fact is, you want it. You have literally thrown Nan at his head ever since he stayed with us last summer. You are so devoted to your friend, Mr. Campion!"

"You will see that he is a friend to be proud of," said Sir John, with conviction. "He is one of the cleverest men of the day, he will be one of the most distinguished. Any woman may envy Nan----"

"If she accepts him," said Lady Pynsent.

"Don't you think she will?"

"I have no idea. In some ways, Nan is so childish; in others, she is a woman grown. I can never answer for Nan. She takes such idealistic views of things."

"She's a dear, good girl," said Sir John, rather objecting to this view of Nan's character.

"My dear John, of course she is! She's a darling. But she is quite impracticable sometimes, as you know."

Yes, Sir John knew. And for that very reason, he wanted Nan to marry Sydney Campion.

He warned his wife against speaking to the girl on the subject: he had promised Campion a fair field, and he was to speak as soon as he got the opportunity. "He's coming to dinner next Wednesday; he may get his chance then."

But Sydney got it before Wednesday. He found that the Pynsents were invited to a garden party--a social function which he usually avoided with care--for which he also had received a card. The hostess lived at Fulham, and he knew that her garden was large and shady, sloping to the river, and full of artfully contrived sequestered nooks, where many a flirtation was carried on.

"She won't like it so well as Culverley," said Sydney to himself, with a half smile, "but it will be better than a drawing-room."

He did not like to confess to himself how nervous he felt. His theory had always been that a man should not propose to a woman unless he is sure that he will be accepted. He was not at all sure about Nan's feelings towards him, and yet he was going to propose. He told himself again that he had not meant to speak so soon--that if he saw any signs of distaste he should cut short his declaration altogether and defer it to a more convenient season; but all the same, he knew in his own heart that he would be horribly disappointed if fate deprived him of the chance of a decisive interview with Anna Pynsent.

Those who saw him at Lady Maliphant's party that afternoon, smiling, handsome, debonnair, as usual faultlessly attired, with a pleasant word for everyone he met and an eye that was perfectly cool and careless, would have been amazed could they have known the leap that his heart gave when he caught sight of Lady Pynsent's great scarlet parasol and trailing black laces, side by side with Nan's dainty white costume. The girl wore an embroidered muslin, with a yellow sash tied loosely round her slender waist; the graceful curve of her broad-brimmed hat, fastened high over one ear like a cavalier's, was softened by drooping white ostrich feathers; her lace parasol had a knot of yellow ribbon at one side, to match the tint of her sash. Her long tan gloves and the Marechal Niel roses at her neck were finishing touches of the picture which Sydney was incompetent to grasp in detail, although he felt its charm on a whole. The sweet, delicate face, with its refined features and great dark eyes, was one which might well cause a man to barter all the world for love; and, in Sydney's case, it happened that to gain its owner meant to gain the world as well. It spoke well for Sydney's genuine affection that he had ceased of late to think of the worldly fortune that Nan might bring him, and remembered only that he wanted Nan Pynsent for herself.

She greeted him with a smile. She had grown a little quieter, a little more conventional in manner of late: he did not like her any the worse for that. But, although she did not utter any word of welcome, he fancied from her face that she was glad to see him; and it was not long before he found some pretext for strolling off with her to a shadowy and secluded portion of the grounds. Even then he was not sure whether he would ask her to be his wife that day, or whether he would postpone the decisive moment a little longer. Nan's bright, unconscious face was very charming, undisturbed by fear or doubt: what if he brought a shadow to it, a cloud that he could not dispel? For one of the very few times in his life, Sydney did not feel sure of himself.

"Where are you going this summer?" she asked him, as they stood beside the shining water, and watched the eddies and ripples of the stream.

"I usually go abroad. But Sir John has been asking me to Culverley again."

"You do not mean to go to Switzerland, then? You spoke of it the other day."

"No, I think not. I do not want to be so far away from--from London."

"You are so fond of your work: you do not like to be parted from it,"

she said smiling.

"I am fond of it, certainly. I have a good deal to do."

"Oh!" said Nan, innocently, "I thought people who were in Parliament did nothing but Parliamentary business-like John."

"I have other things to do as well, Miss Pynsent. And in Parliament even there is a good deal to study and prepare for, if one means to take up a strong position from the beginning."

"Which, I am sure, you mean to do," she said quickly.

"Thank you. You understand me perfectly--you understand my ambitions, my hopes and fears----"

She did not look as if she understood him at all.

"Are you ambitious, Mr. Campion? But what do you wish for more than you have already?"

"Many things. Everything."

"Power, I suppose," said Nan doubtfully; then, with a slightly interrogative intonation--"and riches?"

"Well--yes."

"But one's happiness does not depend on either."

"It rarely exists without one or the other."

"I don't know. I should like to live in a cottage and be quite poor and bake the bread, and work hard all day, and sleep soundly all night----"

"Yes, if it were for the sake of those you loved," said Sydney, venturing to look at her significantly.

Nan nodded, and a faint smile curved her lips: her eyes grew tender and soft.

"Can you not imagine another kind of life? where you spent yourself equally for those whom you loved and who loved you, but in happier circ.u.mstances? a life where two congenial souls met and worked together?

Could you not be happy almost anywhere with the one--the man--you loved?"

Sydney's voice had sunk low, but his eyes expressed more pa.s.sion than his voice, which was kept sedulously steady. Nan was more aware of the look in his eyes than of the words he actually used. She cast a half-frightened look at him, and then turned rosy-red.

"Could you be happy with me?" he asked her, still speaking very gently.

"Nan, I love you--I love you with all my heart. Will you be my wife?"

And as she surrendered her hands to his close clasp, and looked half smilingly, half timidly into his face, he knew that his cause was won.

But, alas, for Sydney, that at the height of his love-triumph, a bitter drop of memory should suddenly poison his pleasure at the fount!

CHAPTER XXVIII.