“If you had married me now,” he continued, “it would have been to leave the world with which you are familiar; you were ready to make that sacrifice for me. Can you promise me to draw a little apart—to try yourself—to see if you could really give it up, and live for yourself and for me?”
“I will—indeed I will, Bernard!—you shall know all I do every day; you shall see if I cannot live as you wish. You shall tell me of books to read; I will come into your world.”
“That will make my life full of joy, instead of an intolerable burden,” he exclaimed, glowing with delight. “I could not bear it otherwise! The distance between us would be too great. And—is it not better to confess it?—I am easily jealous. I feel that to go on my way there in London, whilst you were shining among people of wealth and leisure, all doing you homage, that would drive me mad.”
Isabel smiled as she reassured him. These words pleased her, but not in the nobler way. He had said what should never be said to a woman by one who will hold her love pure of meaner mixture.
“I shall come to London in the spring,” she said presently. “You know I always do so, but this time it will only be to be near you. I can’t afford a house; I shall take rooms, and you will often come to see me.”
He looked at her, but did not answer.
“But who knows what may happen before then?” she exclaimed, with sudden joyousness. “We can make no plans. Fate has brought us together, and fate will help us—have no fear!”
“Fate is not often benevolent,” said King-cote, smiling cheerlessly.
“But are not we the exceptions? I feel—I know—that there is happiness for us; I won’t listen to a single down-hearted word! You came to Winstoke because my love was waiting for you; you are going now to London because something is prepared which we cannot foresee. Look brighter, dear; it is all well.”
“Isabel, I will not see you again before I go.”