“Don’t be foolish, child. You seem to take a pleasure in tormenting me.”
Lady Gwendolyn hung down her head, and became as red as a rose. She understood now.
“But I really don’t think there is any such great hurry, Lawrence,” she said, still disposed to capitulate.
“And I really think I have sufficiently proved that there is something to hurry about,” was the cool reply.
Her arguments failing to convince, Lady Gwendolyn took refuge in a pout. This is a woman’s last refuge when she finds her position is weak, and is a sure index of faltering resolution.
“You are very unreasonable, Lawrence, and abominably arbitrary. Because you want a thing it must needs be done.”
“If the thing be right.”
“But your wishing it seems to make it right, in your own eyes,” she answered petulantly.
“You are entirely mistaken there, Gwen. I love you so tenderly that if I wished anything that would harm you in your reputation, your self-respect, in any way, in fact, I would bite my tongue in twain before I would advocate it by a single word. But you ought to marry before people find out that you have been here with me. Don’t you understand?”
“I thought nothing could be said, as this is a hotel——”