“Then, Barbara, you would have married me, believing me base born?”
“Oh Richard! you thought it was knowing who you were that made me—! Richard! Richard! I did not think you could have wronged me so! My father sold Miss Brown because I would not marry your brother and be lady Lestrange. If you had not asked me, and I had been sure it was only because of your birth you wouldn't, I should have found some way of letting you know I cared no more for that than God himself does. The god of the world is the devil. He has many names, but he's all the same devil, as Mr. Wingfold says.—I wonder why he never told me!—I'm glad he didn't. If he had, I shouldn't be here now!”
“I am very glad too, Barbara; but it wouldn't have made so much difference: I was only here on my way to you! But suppose it had been as you thought, it was one thing what you would do, and another what I would ask you to do!”
“What I would have done was what you should have believed I would do!”
“You must just pardon me, Barbara: well as I thought I knew you, I did not know you enough!”
“You do now?”
'“I do.”
There came a silence.
“How long have you known this about yourself, Richard?” said Barbara.
“More than four years.”