'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.
'My dear fellow,' exclaimed Allan, 'what is the matter with you? Your hand is as cold as ice.'
Midwinter smiled faintly. 'I am always in extremes,' he said; 'my hand was as hot as fire the first time you took it at the old west-country inn. Come to that difficulty which you have not come to yet. You are young, rich, your own master—and she loves you. What difficulty can there be?'
Allan hesitated. 'I hardly know how to put it,' he replied. 'As you said just now, I love her, and she loves me; and yet there is a sort of strangeness between us. One talks a good deal about one's self when one is in love, at least I do. I've told her all about myself and my mother, and how I came in for this place, and the rest of it. Well— though it doesn't strike me when we are together—it comes across me now and then, when I'm away from her, that she doesn't say much on her side. In fact, I know no more about her than you do.'
'Do you mean that you know nothing about Miss Gwilt's family and friends?'
'That's it, exactly.'
'Have you never asked her about them?'
'I said something of the sort the other day,' returned Allan: 'and I'm afraid, as usual, I said it in the wrong way. She looked—I can't quite tell you how; not exactly displeased, but—oh, what things words are! I'd give the world, Midwinter, if I could only find the right word when I want it as well as you do.'
'Did Miss Gwilt say anything to you in the way of a reply?'
'That's just what I was coming to. She said, 'I shall have a melancholy story to tell you one of these days, Mr. Armadale, about myself and my family; but you look so happy, and the circumstances are so distressing, that I have hardly the heart to speak of it now.' Ah,
'Certainly, Allan; Mr. Brock has been your second father. Any disagreement between you about such a serious matter as this would be the saddest thing that could happen. You ought to satisfy him that Miss Gwilt is (what I am sure Miss Gwilt will prove to be) worthy, in every way worthy—' His voice sank in spite of him, and he left the sentence unfinished.
'Just my feeling in the matter!' Allan struck in, glibly. 'Now we can come to what I particularly wanted to consult you about. If this was your case, Midwinter, you would be able to say the right words to her—you would put it delicately, even though you were putting it quite in the dark. I can't do that. I'm a blundering sort of fellow; and I'm horribly afraid, if I can't get some hint at the truth to help me at starting, of saying something to distress her. Family misfortunes are such tender subjects to touch on, especially with such a refined woman, such a tender- hearted woman, as Miss Gwilt. There may have been some dreadful death in the family—some relation who has disgraced himself—some infernal cruelty which has forced the poor thing out on the world as a governess. Well, turning it over in my mind, it struck me that the major might be able to put me on the right tack. It is quite possible that he might have been informed of Miss Gwilt's family circumstances before he engaged her, isn't it?'
'It is possible, Allan, certainly.'
'Just my feeling again! My notion is to speak to the major. If I could only get the story from him first, I should know so much better how to speak to Miss Gwilt about it afterward. You advise me to try the major, don't you?'
There was a pause before Midwinter replied. When he did answer, it was a little reluctantly.
'I hardly know how to advise you, Allan,' he said. 'This is a very delicate matter.'
'I believe you would try the major, if you were in my place,' returned Allan, reverting to his inveterately personal way of putting the question.
'Perhaps I might,' said Midwinter, more and more unwillingly. 'But if I did speak to the major, I should be very careful, in your place, not to put myself in a false position. I should be very careful to let no one suspect me of the meanness of prying into a woman's secrets behind her back.'
Allan's face flushed. 'Good heavens, Midwinter,' he exclaimed, 'who could suspect me of that?'
'Nobody, Allan, who really knows you.'
'The major knows me. The major is the last man in the world to misunderstand me. All I want him to do is to help me (if he can) to speak about a delicate subject to Miss Gwilt, without hurting her feelings. Can anything be simpler between two gentlemen?'
Instead of replying, Midwinter, still speaking as constrainedly as ever, asked a question on his side. 'Do you mean to tell Major Milroy,' he said, 'what your intentions really are toward Miss Gwilt?'
Allan's manner altered. He hesitated, and looked confused.
'I have been thinking of that,' he replied; 'and I mean to feel my way first, and then tell him or not afterward, as matters turn out?'
A proceeding so cautious as this was too strikingly inconsistent with Allan's character not to surprise any one who knew him. Midwinter showed his surprise plainly.
'You forget that foolish flirtation of mine with Miss Milroy,' Allan went on, more and more confusedly. 'The major may have noticed it, and may have thought I meant—well, what I didn't mean. It might be rather awkward, mightn't it, to propose to his face for his governess instead of his daughter?'
He waited for a word of answer, but none came. Midwinter opened his lips to speak, and suddenly checked
