Brock?"
"I would rather speak to _you_," said Allan. "But tell me first,
was I right or wrong last night in thinking you disapproved of my
falling in love with Miss Gwilt?"
Midwinter's lean, nervous fingers began to crumble the bread in
his plate. His eyes looked away from Allan for the first time.
"If you have any objection," persisted Allan, "I should like to
hear it."
Midwinter suddenly looked up again, his cheeks turning ashy pale,
and his glittering black eyes fixed full on Allan's face.
"You love her," he said. "Does _she_ love _you_?"
"You won't think me vain?" returned Allan. "I told you yesterday
I had had private opportunities with her--"
Midwinter's eyes dropped again to the crumbs on his plate. "I
understand," he interposed, quickly. "You were wrong last night.
I had no objections to make."
"Don't you congratulate me?" asked Allan, a little uneasily.
"Such a beautiful woman! such a clever woman!"
Midwinter held out his hand. "I owe you more than mere
congratulations," he said. "In anything which is for your
happiness I owe you help." He took Allan's hand, and wrung it
hard. "Can I help you?" he asked, growing paler and paler as he
spoke.
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