"Not in the least. I never take offence except when I think people mean it. But now, Marion, say one word to me."
"I have said many words. Have I not said nice words?"
"Every word out of your mouth is like music to me. But there is one word which I am dying to hear."
"What word?" she said. She knew that she should not have asked the question, but it was so necessary for her to put off the evil if it were only for a moment.
"It is whatever word you may choose to use when you speak to me as my wife. My mother used to call me John; the children call me Jack; my friends call me Hampstead. Invent something sweet for yourself. I always call you Marion because I love the sound so dearly."
"Every one calls me Marion."
"No! I never did so till I had told myself that, if possible, you should be my own. Do you remember when you poked the fire for me at Hendon Hall?"
"I do;—I do. It was wrong of me; was it not;—when I hardly knew you?"
"It was beyond measure good of you; but I did not dare to call you Marion then, though I knew your name as well as I do now, Marion! I have it here, written all round my heart." What could she say to a man who spoke to her after this fashion? It was as though an angel from heaven were courting her! If only she could have gone on listening so that nothing further should come of it! "Find some name for me, and tell me that it shall be written round your heart."
"Indeed it is. You know it is, Lord Hampstead."