“Why? Do you dislike the other name?”
“No—I like it. I am proud of it—not because it is a high, haughty name, but because it is yours. When other people call me ‘Mrs. Clifton,’ my heart springs with pride and joy, but when you call me so—”
“Ah, now, do not let us grow sentimental, madam! I prefer to call you Mrs. Clifton because I think that the fancied dignity for which you have toiled and plotted so long, and patiently, and successfully, should be constantly brought to your mind.”
With a deprecating, imploring gesture, and a brow crimsoned until the purple veins started out, Catherine, pierced by this keen sarcasm, sank into a chair.
Unpityingly, he added—
“And now, Mrs. Clifton, I really must entreat you to excuse me. I expect Turnbull here, every instant, to have a talk about the stock.”
Catherine arose, trembling, and left the room; one agonized complaint bursting from her tortured bosom—
“Oh, I would to Heaven this were over—some way!”
He looked after her, with a countenance convulsed with sorrow, groaning—
“And so would I! And so would I to God that this were over—somehow! Oh!” he thought, rising again, and pacing the floor—“there is nothing in life so humiliating to an honorable-minded man, as to love and live with a perfidious woman—to be daily tempted by his own heart and her blandishment, to become her dupe and his own scorn! To be hourly on the brink of clasping just so much proved treachery as her form conceals, to a half loving, half loathing bosom! Serpents! Yes, I dreamed of a serpent, last night:—methought I was in the forests of Brazil, and the fatal cobra-di-capello had coiled itself around my neck, and raised its horrid head to mine, and I went to snatch the deadly reptile away, and found it to be only Catherine’s gentle arms and noble face. Devils! Never did a demon hide itself under a more deceptive form and face!—with that saint-like blending of nobility and meekness in her countenance. Every time she talks with me, she brings me to the very brink of abjuring my sincere convictions. I must get away from this place, or my mind will become unsettled, deranged. I must hasten my departure, and in the meantime, she shall not talk with me again. She shall not cross the threshold of this room again, or if she does, she shall meet with such a reception that she shall speedily retire.” And so, torn with passion, he walked and raved, while Catherine sought her room, and threw herself upon the bed, giving way to a burst of tears and sobs, and crying, in wild rebellion—