“Do you wish to lose him altogether, Alice?” exclaimed Helen impatiently.
“No, no, I could not, I will not,” she whispered without raising her head. During the last few moments Alice’s love and pride had struggled in mortal conflict, and pride had been slain. After a silence of nearly five minutes, she raised her head and stood up, and turning her tear-stained colourless face to her cousin said:
“What shall I do if Reginald repulses me, as he most probably will, since you say he is so angry?”
“Never mind; after all he is your husband, in spite of the folly you both talk about ward and guardian. He is as much your husband as Mark is mine, and you need not be bashful in making stray little advances to him. It is not as if you were a stranger.”
“It will be just as bad as if he were. I told him we were to be strangers for the future.”
“You told him that!” exclaimed Helen with a gesture of incredulity. “I never heard of such madness—never! Impress upon him without delay that you have exercised your sex’s privilege and changed your mind. Run away now and get ready for dinner; the first bell was rung ten minutes ago. And let me see that you will be a good sensible girl for once, and, what is more important still, a good wife. Remember that we have always to give in.”
“If you only had any idea of the task you have set me, and how small and miserable I feel,” replied Alice, with her hand on the door-handle.
“Come, be off. Don’t talk nonsense. You have no time to lose. Don’t let me see that face at dinner—you look as if Melancholy had marked you for her own. Away with you,” cried Mrs. Mayhew, playfully pushing her out of the room.
Parker was amazed to hear her lady say:
“Get me out my white silk and gauze dinner-dress, please, as quickly as possible, and run down to the pleasure-grounds, and bring me a bunch of crimson roses.”