"Of what are you thinking, husband mine?"
He started as if she had stung him, and hastened to reply:
"Can't you guess? I was thinking of you and of all you have done for me."
"Perhaps a little of me, but not altogether, I fear. Cuthbert, do you believe you will ever regret?"
"No, no! ten thousand times, no! Would a man ever regret having been given a chance of heaven?"
"You are begging the question! I mean, my husband,"—her voice dwelt with infinite tenderness upon the name,—"do you think you will ever have cause to wish you had never seen me, when you see what other cleverer and prettier women you might have married?"
"I should never have married any other. You are my destiny. I was born into the world to marry you, and no one else. How could it possibly have been otherwise?"
"You are very silly. I want to talk seriously."
"That is talking seriously."
"It is nonsense. But listen, dear. You must forgive me for bringing up the subject on this night, of all others, but I cannot let it rest. I will never speak of it again if you wish it. But you must answer me truthfully for the last time."