“How can you say that?” said Zoe. “Of course I shall marry you, dearest. What! do you think I could do what I have done for anybody but my husband that is to be?”
“I was mad to think otherwise,” said he, “but I am in low spirits, and full of misgivings. Oh, the comfort, the bliss, the peace of mind, the joy, if you would see our hazardous condition, and make all safe by marrying me to-morrow.”
“To-morrow! Why, Edward, are you mad? How can we be married, so long as my brother is so prejudiced against you?”
“If we wait his consent, we are parted forever. He would forgive us after it—that is certain. But he would never consent. He is too much under the influence of his—of Mademoiselle Klosking.”
“Indeed, I cannot hope he will consent beforehand,” sighed Zoe; “but I have not the courage to defy him; and if I had, we could not marry all in a moment, like that. We should have to be cried in church.”
“That is quite gone out among ladies and gentlemen.”
“Not in our family. Besides, even a special license takes time, I suppose. Oh no, I could not be married in a clandestine, discreditable way. I am a Vizard—please remember that. Would you degrade the woman you honor with your choice?”
And her red cheeks and flashing eyes warned him to desist.
“God forbid!” said he. “If that is the alternative, I consent to lose her—and lose her I shall.”
He then affected to dismiss the subject, and said, “Let me enjoy the hours that are left me. Much misery or much bliss can be condensed in a few days. I will enjoy the blessed time, and we will wait for the chapter of accidents that is sure to part us.” Then he acted reckless happiness, and broke down at last.