‘For that reason you shall have them—at least this one. What will you say when I tell you that young O’Shea has made me a declaration, a formal declaration of love?’
‘I should say that you need not speak of it as an insult or an offence.’
‘Indeed! and if so, you would say what was perfectly wrong. It was both insult and offence—yes, both. Do you know that the man mistook me for you, and called me Kate?’
‘How could this be possible?’
‘In a darkened room, with a sick man slowly rallying from a long attack of stupor; nothing of me to be seen but my hand, which he devoured with kisses—raptures, indeed, Kate, of which I had no conception till I experienced them by counterfeit!’
‘Oh! Nina, this is not fair!’
‘It is true, child. The man caught my hand and declared he would never quit it till I promised it should be his own. Nor was he content with this; but, anticipating his right to be lord and master, he bade you to beware of me! “Beware of that Greek girl!” were his words—words strengthened by what he said of my character and my temperament. I shall spare you, and I shall spare myself, his acute comments on the nature he dreaded to see in companionship with his wife. I have had good training in learning these unbiassed judgments—my early life abounded in such experiences—but this young gentleman’s cautions were candour itself.’
‘I am sincerely sorry for what has pained you.’
‘I did not say it was this boy’s foolish words had wounded me so acutely. I could bear sterner critics than he is—his very blundering misconception of me would always plead his pardon. How could he, or how could they with whom he lived and talked, and smoked and swaggered, know of me, or such as me? What could there be in the monotonous vulgarity of their tiresome lives that should teach them what we are, or what we wish to be? By what presumption did he dare to condemn all that he could not understand?’
‘You are angry, Nina; and I will not say without some cause.’