“Well, and will you always love me however badly I behave?”
“Of course,” she answered simply, “because I must. Oh! whatever we may hear about each other, we may be quite certain that we still love each other—because we must—and all your heaven and hell cannot make any difference, no, not if they were both to join forces and try their best. But that does not mean that necessarily we shall marry each other, for I think that people who love like that rarely do marry, because, you see, they would be too happy, which something is always trying to prevent. It may mean, however,” she added reflectively, “that we shall not marry anybody else, though even that might happen in your case—not in mine. Always remember, Godfrey, that I shall never marry anybody else, not even if you took three wives one after the other.”
“Three wives!” gasped Godfrey.
“Yes, why not? It would be quite natural, wouldn’t it, if you wouldn’t marry me, and even proper. Only I should never take one—husband, I mean—not from any particular virtue, but just because I couldn’t. You see, it would make me ill. And if I tried I should only run away.”
“Oh! stop talking nonsense,” said Godfrey, “when so soon you will have to go to see about those people,” and he held out his arms.
She sank into them, and for a little while they forgot their doubts and fears.
The rain had ceased, and the triumphant sun shining gloriously through the west window of stained glass, poured its rays upon them, dyeing them all the colours of an angel’s wings. Also incidentally it made them extremely conspicuous in that dusky church, of which they had all this while forgotten to shut the door.
“My word!” said Sir John to Mr. Knight in tones of savage sarcasm as they surveyed the two through this door. “We’ve got here just at the right time. Don’t they look pretty, and don’t you wish that you were his age and that was someone else’s daughter? I tell you, I do.”
Mr. Knight gurgled something in his inarticulate wrath, for at that moment he hated Isobel’s father as much as he did Isobel, which was saying a great deal.
“Well, my pretty pair of cooing turtle-doves,” went on Sir John in a sort of shout, addressing himself to them, “be so good as to stop that, or I think I shall wring both your necks, damn you.”