"Why so? If there is no obstacle in—in your own affections, it seems to me that it would be quite possible," said Sir Philip, standing before her in an attitude of some urgency. "But perhaps you have a dislike to me?"
"Oh, no." She could not say more—she could not look up.
"I think I could make your life a happy one. You would not find me difficult. And you need have no further anxiety about your family; we could find some way of managing that. You think as I do about so many subjects that I am sure we should be happy together."
It was a big bribe. That was how Janetta looked at it in that moment. She was certain that Sir Philip did not love her: she knew that she did not love Sir Philip; and yet—it did seem that she might have a happy, easy, honored life if she consented to marry him—a life that would make her envied by many who had previously scorned her, and which would be, she hoped, productive of good to those whom she deeply loved. It was a bribe—a temptation. She was tempted, as any girl might have been, to exchange her life of toil and anxiety for one of luxury and peace; but there was something that she would also have to lose—the clear, upright conscience, the love of truth, the conviction of well-doing. She could not keep these and become Sir Philip's wife.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
"CHANGES MUST COME."
She raised her eyes at length, and looked Sir Philip in the face. What a manly, honest, intelligent face it was! One that a woman might well be proud of in her husband: the face of a man whom she might very safely trust. Janetta thought all this, as she made her answer.
"I am very sorry, Sir Philip, but I cannot be your wife."
"You are answering me too hastily. Think again—take a day, a week—a month if you like. Don't refuse without considering the matter, I beg of you."