‘Oh! James, I’m sure I don’t know what I have said. It was all so sudden, and I didn’t know what I was saying—but things that I must never say again. The day is fixed for next week. It is all the same as if you had found me his wife!’
‘Not quite,’ said James, his voice cutting the air with a decided, manly ring. ‘I have some words to say to that yet.’
‘Oh, James, will you be selfish? Will you tempt me to do a mean, dishonourable thing—to be false to my word deliberately given?’
‘But,’ said James, eagerly, ‘you know, Mary, you never would have given it if you had known that I was living.’
‘That is true, James; but I did give it. I have suffered him to build all his hopes of life upon it. I beg you not to tempt me. Help me to do right.’
‘But, Mary, did you not get my letter?’
‘Your letter!’
‘Yes! that long letter that I wrote you.’
‘I never got any letter, James.’
‘Strange,’ he said; ‘no wonder it seems sudden to you.’