“Why, then, are we not wealthy? That is the rent of a delightful house, somewhere far away. Might we not go abroad? Would you,” she added anxiously, “go abroad with me?”
“Dear, can you so change your life?”
“It is changed. There is no effort asked of me. I live only for you.”
“Your friends?”
“My friends? One, two, three at most; those I need not lose. My acquaintances, three hundred at least; ah! let them go! It shall be a new world. What need have I of friends? You are my friend, my one, sole friend! I will have no other. Oh, you will not weary of me? I bring you so little—my ignorance, my foolish habits of thought. You will be patient with me, and help me to become more the kind of woman suitable for—for your wife?”
The flush in her cheeks had become steadfast; her eyes gleamed unnaturally. Each word she spoke heightened the fever which was gaining upon her. He noticed this.
“I have been wrong to let you talk so much,” he said gravely. “You are tired; you will suffer.”
“No, I shall sleep, and with such peace in my heart as I have never known.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, and murmured words that he did not hear.
“Is Mrs. Stratton still with you?” he asked.