“Sarah! you can think of the hatefullest things.”
“And Lonsdale will go up to London purposely to have the delight of telling it at the clubs.”
“Sarah!”
“And the ‘Daily Whisper’ will get Lonsdale’s most delectable version, and blow it with the four winds of heaven to the four corners of the civilized world.”
“Sarah Sandys, I—”
“Worse still! that poor girl whom you treated so abominably, must suffer the whole thing over again. Her name will be put as the head and front of your offending. All her sorrows and heartbreak will be made a penny mouthful for country bumpkins and scandalous gammers to ‘Oh!’ and ‘Ah!’ over. Ulfar, if you are a man, you will not give her a moment’s 169 terror of such consequences. You may see that she fears them, by her sending her brother to entreat your absence.”
“And I must be called coward and runaway!”
“Let them call you anything they like, so that you spare her further shame and sorrow.”
“Your talking in this fashion to me, Sarah, is very like Satan correcting sin. I loved Aspatria when I met you in Rome.”
“Of course! Adam always has his Eve ready. ‘Not my fault, good people! Look at this woman! With her bright smiles and her soft tongue she beguiled me; and so I fell!’ We can settle that question, you and I, again. Now you must ring the bell, and order your horse—say, at four o’clock to-morrow morning. You can have nearly six hours’ sleep,—quite enough for you.”