I make no reply: I feel myself incapable of speech. Indeed, looking back upon it now, I think silence was the better part, as, under the circumstances, I don't quite see what I could have said.
"So this is the light in which you regard our marriage!" he goes on bitterly: "as a means to an end—no more. At the close of six months I find myself as far from having gained a place in your affections as when we first met. I may well despair. Your heart seems full of thought and love for every one, Phyllis, except for the man you have promised to marry."
"Then give me up," I say, defiantly, though my false courage sinks as I remember what a row there will be at home if he takes me at my word.
"No, I will not give you up. I will marry you in spite of your coldness: I am more determined on it now than ever," he makes answer, almost fiercely.
I feel uneasy, not to say unhappy. I have heard of men marrying women for spite and revenging themselves upon them afterwards. This recollection is not reassuring. I glance at Marmaduke furtively, and persuade myself he is looking downright vindictive.
"Yes," I murmur, doubtfully, "and perhaps, afterwards, when I was your wife, you would be cruel to me, and—-"
"Phyllis," he interrupts me, hastily, "what are you saying? Who has put such a detestable idea into your head? I unkind to you, or cruel! Child, can you not even imagine the depth of the love I bear you?"
I know I am going to cry. Already are my eyes suffusing; my nose develops a tickling sensation. I am indignant with myself at the bare thought, but nevertheless I feel assured if I open my mouth it will be to give utterance to a sob. If I cry before him now he will think—-
"Phyllis, do you really wish to marry me?" asks Mr. Carrington, suddenly, trying to read my hot and averted face. "If you repent your promise, say so: it is not yet too late to withdraw. Better bear pain now than lasting misery hereafter. Answer me truly: do you wish to be my wife?"
"I do," I return, earnestly. "I shall be happier with you, who are always kind to me, than I am at home. It is only at times I feel regretful. But of course—if you don't want to marry me—-" I pause, overcome by the ignominy of this thought.