As we walked alone I tried to tell him it was impossible, that I must go back to Christopher, that Lady Ver would think I had broken my word about it. I did not, of course, tell him of her bargain with me over him, but he probably guessed that, because before we got into the hansom even, he had begun to put me through a searching cross-examination as to the reasons for my behaviour at Tryland, and Park Street, and the Opera. I felt like a child with a strong man, and every moment more idiotically happy, and in love with him.
He told the cabman to drive to Hammersmith, and then put his arm round my waist again, and held my hand, pulling my glove off backwards first. It is a great big granny muff of sable I have, Mrs. Carruthers’ present on my last birthday. I never thought then to what charming use it would be put!
“Now I think we have demolished all your silly little reasons for making me miserable,” he said. “What others have you to bring forward as to why you can’t marry me in a fortnight?”
I was silent—I did not know how to say it—the principal reason of all.
“Evangeline—darling,” he pleaded. “Oh, why will you make us both unhappy—tell me at least.”
“Your brother, the Duke,” I said, very low. “He will never consent to your marrying a person like me with no relations.”
He was silent for a second,—then, “My brother is an awfully good fellow,” he said, “but his mind is warped by his infirmity. You must not think hardly of him—he will love you directly he sees you, like everyone else.”
“I saw him yesterday,” I said.
Robert was so astonished.