"
Moody entreated her not to speak of it. "How can I put my money to a
better use than in serving your interests?" he asked. "My one object
in life is to relieve you of your present anxieties. I shall be
the happiest man living if you only owe a moment's happiness to my
exertions!"
Isabel took his hand, and looked at him with grateful tears in her eyes.
"How good you are to me, Mr. Moody!" she said. "I wish I could tell you
how deeply I feel your kindness."
"You can do it easily," he answered, with a smile. "Call me
'Robert'--don't call me 'Mr. Moody.'"
She took his arm with a sudden familiarity that charmed him. "If you had
been my brother I should have called you 'Robert,'" she said; "and no
brother could have been more devoted to me than you are."
He looked eagerly at her bright face turned up to his. "May I never
hope to be something nearer and dearer to you than a brother?" he asked
timidly.
She hung her head and said nothing. Moody's memory recalled Sharon's
coarse reference to her "sweetheart." She had blushed when he put the
question? What had she done when Moody put _his_ question? Her face
answered for her--she had turned pale; she was looking more serious than
usual. Ignorant as he was of the ways of women, his instinct told him
that this was a bad sign. Surely her rising color would have confessed
it, if time and gratitude together were teaching her to love him? He
sighed as the inevitable conclusion forced itself on his mind.
Pages:
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138