"I must not hear you talk in this wild way, Mr. Fairfax," she said. "I feel
as if I had been guilty of a sin against Lady Geraldine in having listened
so long. But I cannot for a moment think you are in earnest."
"Do not play the Jesuit, Clarissa. You _know_ that I am in earnest."
"Then the railway accident must have turned your brain, and I can only hope
that to-morrow morning will restore your reason."
"Well, I am mad, if you like--madly in love with you. What am I to do? If
with some show of decency I can recover my liberty--by an appeal to Lady
Geraldine's generosity, for instance--believe me, I shall not break her
heart; our mutual regard is the calmest, coolest sentiment possible--if I
can get myself free from this engagement, will you be my wife, Clarissa?"
"No; a thousand times no."
"You don't care for me, then? The madness is all on my side?"
"The madness--if you are really in earnest, and not carrying on some absurd
jest--is all on your side."
"Well, that seems hard. I was vain enough to think otherwise. I thought so
strong a feeling on one side could not co-exist with perfect indifference
on the other. I fancied there was something like predestination in this,
and that my wandering unwedded soul had met its other half--it's an old
Greek notion, you know, that men and women were made in pairs--but I was
miserably mistaken, I suppose. How many lovers have you rejected since you
left school, Miss Lovel?" he asked with a short bitter laugh.
Pages:
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202