She covered her face in her hands, and wept scalding tears of heart-breaking misery.
Her sobs pierced his heart; he could not withstand them. He loved her too dearly to see her sorrowing unmoved; and forgetting in that sight all his selfish fears and calculations, he caught her in his arms and exclaimed, "Blanche—my own beautiful Blanche! don't cry—I am a brute—I did not mean it—indeed I did not. Look up. There; see, I am glad; I will be glad. You are right. My fears were foolish. We shall be all the happier! Don't sob so, my blessed one—you kill me!"
"Oh, Cecil, Cecil!" she sobbed, as she threw her arms round him convulsively.
"My own pet, don't cry now. I was taken by surprise. I only thought of our poverty. You are right. Poorer people are happy in their children, why should we not be? Dry your eyes, beauty. There; you see I am quite come round. I hope it will be a girl: a dear little petkin, just like its darling mother. Fancy a toddling Blanche! won't it be a beauty? It must be christened Blanche—eh? Or suppose it's a boy, what name shall we give it? Tell me, beauty."
She only kissed him feverishly; she could not speak: her trembling agitation was not yet subdued, and the tears continued to fall fast.
"What a Turk he will be; won't he? Just like his mother—you are a Turk, you know, pet!"
Blanche smiled faintly.
"There, you begin to smile—that's right. I see I am forgiven. Dry your eyes, they are quite swollen. You don't look at all handsome when you cry—no, not at all. There, now you laugh you are yourself again—laugh away those tears, or I will take your portrait as you are, and your children shall see their mother as the Niobe of the nineteenth century. Will you be painted as Niobe?"
She laughed again, but it was slightly hysterical. However, by caresses and cajoleries, he brought her round at last, and her eyes were dried. They were soon talking over the prospects of their children, as if nothing had occurred; an occasional sigh—the mere physical effect of previous grief—alone recalling the moment of agony she had escaped. Cecil was afraid to leave her, lest she should relapse, so he proposed to take her into town to see the exhibition of old paintings at the British Institution.
Blanche was perfectly happy. She had been but too readily persuaded that he was, on reflection, really delighted at the prospect of a family; she wished so to believe it! And he was more charming and cajoling than ever.