“His claim was open, palpable: mine, only visionary.”
“I will think well of him—when I think of him. Look, when you turn that way, the stars make little babies in your eyes.”
“Isabel, if it were not I, I think I could say, Make him happy.”
“What do you mean, if it were not you? O, God! what have I done to forfeit my love?”
“To forfeit, child?”
“Have I been too forward, too complying—cheapening in myself the thing you held so dear? Will you give me to him, as one having too easily betrayed her easy nature? I am not like that—not fickle—indeed, indeed I am not. I will be cold, forbidding, if it please you; more maidenly; chary of my favours; no smiles, no kisses—Ah, no, I cannot! It is too late. In pity do not despise and cast me off!”
“You very woman! Come, bend lower. Give me your lips, I say.”
“How can I help it when you bid me?”
“My gentle slave! What reprisals your fond loveliness does invite! I could almost wound you just to taste that lust of dear submission. And yet, I did not mean to wound you, girl; but only to say, were I to die, atone as best you can.”
“As best I can, then. Shall I promise to marry him?”