“Very true. The packet is still in Mrs. Lancaster’s possession, is it not?”
“I gave it to her, for fear of my own curiosity. But ’tis another thing now. I must know what is in it. And soon!”
“Shall I get it for you?”
“If you will be so kind.... No, on the whole, I think you had better not. Under the circumstances, Mrs. Lancaster would probably prefer to have me apply to her directly. But when I’ve got it, I shall want to consult with you about it.”
“You may command me at any time, madame.”
Perdita rose, and the lawyer, though he would gladly have stayed longer, had no choice but to rise also. “Sir,” said the Marquise, after contemplating him a moment, “I wish you would be consistent!”
Fillmore bowed, somewhat apprehensively: for although Perdita had given him to know that she was not afraid of him, he was beginning to be a little afraid of her. Perceiving that he did not catch her drift, she explained herself.
“You are one of the most agreeable and sensible men I ever met, on all points but one,” she said. “Be sensible on that too!”
“You might as well ask me not to be sensible to hunger, or to fire,” he replied, drawing a deep breath and looking upon her with a sort of sullen ardor.
“I have kept a part of my promise to you,” continued the Marquise; “I have showed you something of what I really am. There is nothing to love here,”—she laid her finger on her breast—“for beauty alone is not lovable, to a man like you. And you have intellect enough: you need something besides intellect in a wife: and that something is just what I can never give.”