“Sir!” said Arabella desperately, as soon as they were alone again: “What is this house to which you have brought me?”
“I have brought you to my grandmother’s house, at Wimbledon,” he replied. “She is a very old lady, and keeps early hours, so you must forgive her for not being downstairs to receive you. You will meet her tomorrow morning. My aunt, who lives with her, would undoubtedly have sat up to receive you had she not gone a few days ago to stay with one of her sisters for a short time.”
“Your grandmother’s house?” exclaimed Arabella, almost starting from her chair. “Good God, why have you brought me to such a place, Mr. Beaumaris?”
“Well, you know,” he explained, “I could not but feel that it was possible you might think better of that notion of eloping. Of course, if, after a night’s repose, you still believe we should go to Gretna Green, I assure you I shall escort you there, whatever Ulysses’ claims upon me may be. For myself, the more I consider the matter, the more I am convinced that we should do better to steel ourselves to meet the felicitations of our friends, and announce our betrothal in the columns of the society journals in the accepted manner.”
“Mr. Beaumaris,” interrupted Arabella, pale but resolute, “I cannot marry you!” She added, on another of her small sobs: “I don’t know why you should ever have wanted to marry me, but—”
“I have lost my entire fortune on ’Change, and must instantly repair it,” he interrupted promptly.
Arabella rose jerkily, and confronted him. “I have not a penny in the world!” she announced.
“In that case,” responded Mr. Beaumaris, maintaining his calm, “you really have no choice in the matter: you must obviously marry me. Since we are being frank with one another, I will confess that my fortune is still intact.”
“I deceived you! I am not an heiress!” Arabella said, feeling that he could not have understood her words.
“You never deceived me for a moment,” said Mr. Beaumaris, smiling at her in a way which made her tremble still more violently.