"I will tell you," he said. "You must say 'Yes,' my darling, to all I ask you."
There was a moment's pause, in which she felt that indeed she must say 'Yes' to anything he asked her.
"Listen, darling," he went on, caressing her hand, his eyes fixed on her face wistfully. "I have been thinking of this love of ours, thinking of it night and day, and I feel that you and I can do no good by waiting. You are happy—yes, because you are a woman; but I am not happy, because, perhaps, that I am a man. I shall not be happy until we are one—until you are my very own. Stella, we must be married at once."
"Not at once," she pleaded.
"At once," he said; and there was a strange, eager, impatient light in his eyes. "Stella, I can speak to you as I can speak to no one else—you and I are one in thought—you are my other self. My darling, I would go through fire to save you a moment's pain, not only pain, but uneasiness and annoyance."
Her fingers closed on his hand, and her eyes, raised to his face for a moment, plainly said, "I believe it;" but her lips said nothing.
"Stella, there would be pain and annoyance to you, if—if we were to make known our love. It is a foolish, stupid, idiotic world; but as the world is, we must accept it—we cannot alter it. If we were to declare our love, all sorts of people would be arrayed against us. Do you think your uncle would consent to it?"
Stella thought a moment.
"I know what you mean," she said, in a low voice. "No, uncle would not consent. But it is not that only. Lady Wyndward—the earl—no one of your people would consent."
His lips curled.