"I do not see that."
"It is so, and should be seen by you. If your work should in any respect fail, imagine what that failure would cost me."
I looked up in utter indignation, but was disarmed by the expression of his countenance; a vague sadness possessed it, a certain air of tender resignation; his hauteur had melted, though his manner retained its distance.
"As if it could be a failure!" I exclaimed; "why, we already know how much it is!"
"I do not, Auchester, and I am not unwilling to confess my ignorance. If our symphony even prove worthy of our Cecilia, I shall still be anxious."
"Why, Florimond?" she demanded, wistfully.
"On account of your health. You know what you promised me."
"Not to write for a year. That is easy to say."
"But not so easy to do. You make every point an extreme, Maria."
"I cannot think what you mean about my health."