I wanted to give her a practical illustration of the lines, but with that sensibility so natural to women, and which they can use so well as a goad to passion, she said,—
“Dearest, you might make yourself worse; let us wait till your sprain is cured.”
“Are we to wait till I am cured for the consummation of our marriage?”
“I suppose so, for if I am not mistaken the thing can’t be done without a certain movement.”
“You are wrong, dear Pauline, but it would make no difference to me even if it were so. You may be sure I would not put it off till to-morrow, even if it cost me my leg. Besides, you shall see that there are ways and means of satisfying our passions without doing me any harm. Is that enough for you?”
“Well, well, as it is written that a wife should obey her husband, you will find me docile.”
“When?”
“After supper.”
“Then we will have no supper. We shall dine with all the better appetite to-morrow. Let us begin now.”
“No, for the suspicions of the servants might be aroused. Love has its rules of decency like everything else.”