“You will find a servant just beyond, who will direct you,” she said, “and I hope you will succeed in convincing Fräulein Dora that marriage to one of Karl Metzerott’s opinions can bring her nothing but misery. And now, Dr. Richards”—
“If you will pardon the interruption,” said that young man easily, “I wish to say that, although quite unacquainted with the peculiar tenets of the person referred to, I am entirely at one with you in believing marriage to one of any opinions so exceedingly likely to lead to misery that an opposite result can only be considered a happy accident.”
Mrs. Randolph stared into his calm face with angry amazement.
“And you ask my sister to expose herself to such a future?” she said. “I am at a loss to understand you, sir.”
“My dear madam, misery is, unfortunately, peculiar to no state of life. I love your sister, and she is good enough to love me. Such being the case, if she prefer misery with me to misery without me, I can only say that I share her taste, and will do my best to make her as little miserable as fate may permit.”
“If your efforts prove as weak as your arguments, Dr. Richards, that ‘best’ will be a very poor one. ‘Misery without you!’ Why, I will give Alice one year, just one, in America, or six months in Paris, to forget you, and be as happy as a queen.”
“I have always heard,” said Dr. Richards, coolly, “that good Americans go to Paris when they die, so perhaps you may be right.”
“You mean she will never forget you while she lives?” asked the lady scornfully.
“I mean that if you can make her forget me, you are quite welcome to try.”
“Ah! this is coming to the point, indeed. I am glad to find you so sensible. So you will not oppose her going abroad with us?”