She had a certain object to win, and she was debating within herself how it was to be won.
"It is like a fairy tale," he said. "Why, my darling, looking at you I cannot believe my own good fortune; you are the fairest woman in England; you are noble, you are high in station; you have the wit, the grace, the noble bearing of a queen. I have nothing but the two titles you have given me, of gentleman and poet—yet I shall win you for my wife. It is so wonderful—this love that breaks all barriers; money could not have brought you to my side—a millionaire might love you, but you would not care for him; title could not win you—it is love that has made you all mine! All mine, until death!"
She listened to his impassioned words; she looked at the handsome, noble face, and a sensation of something like shame came to her that she should have to maneuver with a love so grand in its simplicity; still she must save herself. Her arms fell with a dreamy sigh; the firelight shining on her face showed it to be flushed and tremulous.
"Earle," she said, "do you remember how I used to long for a life like this? long for gayety, excitement, wealth, pleasure, and perpetual admiration?"
"I remember it well. I used to feel so puzzled to know how to get it for you."
"Now I have it—more than even my heart desired. You will not think me very fickle if I tell you something?"
"I shall never think you anything but most charming and lovable, Doris."
"Well, the truth is, I am rather tired of the life; but I do not like to say so. I cannot think why it is; sometimes I think it may only be fancy, that I am not strong as I used to be; perhaps the great change has been too much for me. Let it be what it may, I am tired of it, though I cannot say so to any one but you."
"The queen of the season tired of her honors?" said Earle, kissing the sweet lips and the white brow.
"I am really tired, Earle. Then, though admiration is always sweet to a woman, I have rather too much of it. That Prince Poermal is making love to me, the Marquis of Heather made me an offer yesterday, and Lord Vivianne teases me. Now, Earle, it is tiresome, it is indeed, dear. My mind, my heart—nay, I need not be ashamed to say it—are filled with you. I do not want the offers of other men—their love and admiration."