"I am."
"Then all I can say is, you are not like other women."
"I have been brought up by a man."
"If I was Arthur Wardlaw, it would be the last word you should ever speak to me."
"If you were Arthur Wardlaw, I should be on that dear island now."
"Well, suppose his love should be greater than his spirit, and—"
"If he does not go back when he hears of my hopeless love, I don't see how I can. I shall marry him; and try with all my soul to love him. I'll open every door in London to Robert Penfold; except one; my husband's. And that door, while I live, he shall never enter. Oh, my heart; my heart!" She burst out sobbing desperately. And her father laid her head upon his bosom, and sighed deeply, and asked himself how all this would end.
Before they landed, her fortitude seemed to return; and of her own accord she begged her father to telegraph to the Wardlaws.
"Would you not like a day to compose yourself, and prepare for this trying interview?" said he.
"I should. But it is mere weakness. And I must cure myself of my weakness, or I shall never clear Robert Penfold. And then, papa, I think of you. If old Mr. Wardlaw heard you had been a day in town, you might suffer in his good opinion. We shall be in London at seven. Ask them at eight. That will be one hour's respite. God help me, and strengthen poor Arthur to bear the blow I bring him!"