“Perhaps so, for maidens are all Dianas. Besides, she who went ‘gypsying,’ year after year, could compromise only herself; now her eccentricities, charming as they are, might involve the honor of a most honorable family.”
“Descendants of a pirate at best,” said Marguerite’s memory; but her heart rejected the change of her mind, and replied instead, “My husband, my dear, dear husband, my lord, idolized even now in his implacability;” her lips spoke nothing.
“Much was permissible and even graceful in Miss De Lancie, that could not be tolerated in Mrs. Helmstedt,” continued Philip.
“A great accession of dignity and importance certainly,” sneered Marguerite’s sarcastic intellect. “Away! I am his wife! his loving wife,” replied her worshiping heart; but her lips spoke not.
“You do not answer me, Marguerite.”
“I was listening, beloved.”
“And you see this subject as I do?”
“Certainly, certainly, and the way you put it leaves me no hope but in your generosity. Ah, Philip, be more generous than ever man was before. Ask me no questions, but let me go forth upon my errand, and cover my absence with the shield of your authority that none may venture to cavil.”
“Confide in me and I will do it. I promise you, in advance, not knowing of what nature that confidence may be.”
“Oh, Heaven, if—I cannot. Alas! Philip, I cannot!”