“Yes, yes; go on,” she answered, scarcely knowing what she said.
“What more can I tell you? I should scare you, perhaps, if I let you see all the wild, burning passion in my heart, for your love compared to mine is
‘As moonlight unto sunlight,
And as water unto wine.’
But I will teach you better when you belong to me. I could not be satisfied with the lukewarm affections that most women are ready to bestow on any man who has proper notions with regard to settlements. I must find some expanse in my wife’s heart to the jealous, exclusive passion in my own, otherwise there would be no use in living, that I can see. I never cared much about the world, and am ready to relinquish all its so-called pleasures if you bid me; but, then, I must have the return my soul craves—something more precious to me than a crown and kingdom—your undivided love.”
His mellow voice made such pleasant music at her ear, that Lady Gwendolyn had made no effort to rouse herself so far; but when he ceased to speak, she lifted her haggard, tear-stained face, and said, with somber resignation:
“What is the use of picturing impossibilities? You know I could not marry you if I would.”
“Why not?”
“You forget that I know your secret.”
“Now, you must explain what you mean by my secret, Gwendolyn,” he said, with decision, as he lifted her on to the couch, and sat down beside her. “Twice you have thrown it in my teeth, and though I have tried hard to find out what you meant, I have been unable to do so. On my honor as a gentleman, I know nothing that need prevent our marriage.”