‘But she is not a woman with whom it would be hell-upon-earth to live,’ began Somerville, as if surprised.
‘Heavens! no. She is all that a girl ought to be, I think, and good as only such girls can be. It is not that.’
‘Surely you don’t stick at the fact that you are not desperately in love with her? In your position that would be a folly of which I cannot believe you capable.’
‘No; such an idea never entered my mind.’
‘Then, since we are speaking upon the matter—since you broached it yourself, let me tell you seriously, that, if there is not any real tangible impediment in the way, I think you do wrong in every way not to take the goods the gods offer you.’
Wellfield was silent for a prolonged space, till at last he said, slowly, reluctantly, as if the words were wrung from him:
‘Honour binds me elsewhere.’
‘So! Another lady in the case!’ was the reply, given with a lightness of tone, an absolute approach to a laugh, which surprised Wellfield, and almost gave him a shock. He had expected his words to reduce Somerville to silence to produce an apology for indiscretion. The fact that nothing of the kind happened, had a subtle effect upon his own mental attitude. Somerville went on, with a tact and an audacity combined which were certainly remarkable:
‘Pardon me, I ask no names—indeed, I would rather you mentioned none; but tell me, if you do not very much mind, this lady to whom honour binds you—is she rich?’
‘No.’