“Yes,” said Trafford, looking at her questioningly.
“Why should he be glad if—if I were to be your wife? He is a great nobleman, and I—I am a mere nobody. I have learned what that means since I came to London. Why should he be glad if you married me? He, and all of them, would feel that you ought to marry some great lady equal to yourself.”
Trafford looked straight before him. He could not say to her that her two millions made up for lack of rank and position.
“No,” he said, “they would not wish me to do anything of the kind. They would think that I was extremely lucky in having won you.”
“You mean,” said Esmeralda, with perfect simplicity, “that you are all so great and noble that it doesn’t matter how common the person is you marry?”
It was so true that Trafford winced and colored.
“We are not so arrogant and foolish,” he said. “Believe what I say—that they will be very glad.”
“They have not seen me,” said Esmeralda.
He smiled.
“If they had, it would have been unnecessary for me to assure you of their delight and welcome.”