"What will the world say to a man who deliberately destroys and ruins a girl as you did me?"
"My dearest Dora, the world hears such stories every day and, I am afraid, rather admires the heroes of them."
"What does it say, then, of cowardly men who, having won such a victory, boast of it?"
"I own that the world looks askance on such a man, and very properly too. It is a base, cowardly thing to do. What other course is left me? You drive me to it: I have no wish to play such a contemptible part; I have no wish to boast of a victory—I shall hate myself for doing it; but what else is there for it? Listen, once and for all. Dora—I cannot help calling you by the old familiar name—I will have you for my wife: I will marry you; nothing, I swear, except death, shall take you from me. I will make you happy, I will see that every desire of your heart is fulfilled; but I swear you shall be my wife. There is no escape—no alternative; either that or disgrace, degradation, and ruin. Do not think I shall hesitate from any fear of ruin to myself; I would ruin myself to-morrow to win you. You might as well try to stem the force of a tide as to alter my determination."
She saw that she was conquered; mortifying, humiliating as it was, she was conquered—there was no help for her.
She stood quite still for one moment; then she said slowly:
"Will you give me time?"
His face flushed hotly; his triumph was coming. A smile played round his lips and brightened his eyes.
"Time? Yes; you can have as much time as you like. You see the solution plainly, do you not? Marry me, and keep your fair name, your high position; defy me, and lose it all. You see it plainly?"
"Yes, there is no mistake about it—you have made it most perfectly plain," she said, in a low, passionless voice. "I quite understand you. Give me time to think it over—I cannot decide it hurriedly."