She seemed distressed, fancying that she had hurt him, but he had no false pride.
"Every one knows my position," he answered. "Every one knows that if we live in a palace, in the way you are used to live, it will be with your money."
There was a little pause, for Cecilia did not know what to say. Guido continued, following his own thoughts:
"If I did not love you as much as I do, I could not possibly live on your fortune," he said. "I used to say that nothing could ever make me marry an heiress, and I meant it. One generally ends by doing what one says one will never do. A cousin of mine detested Germans and had the most extraordinary aversion for people who had any physical defect. She married a German who had lost the use of one leg by a wound in battle, and was extremely lame."
"Did she love him?" asked Cecilia.
"Devotedly, to his dying day. They were the most perfectly loving couple I ever knew."
"Would you rather I were lame than rich?" Cecilia asked, with a little laugh.
Guido laughed too.
"That is one of those questions that have no answers. How could I wish anything so perfect as you are to have any defect? But I will tell you a story. An Englishman was very much in love with a lady who was lame, and she loved him but would not marry him. She said that he should not be tied to a cripple all his life. He was one of those magnificent Englishmen you see sometimes, bigger and better looking than other men. When he saw that she was in earnest he went away and scoured Europe till he found what he wanted—a starving young surgeon who was willing to cut off one of his legs for a large sum of money. That was before the days of chloroform. When the Englishman had recovered, he went home with his wooden leg, and asked the lady if she would marry him, then. She did, and they were happy."
"Is that true?" Cecilia asked.