“By birth, yes. In mind, no. And there are things that go deeper, that you could not understand. So I refuse quite definitely, and our ways part here, for in a few days I go. I shall not see you again, but I wish to say good-bye.”
The bitterest chagrin was working in my soul. I felt as if all were deserting me-a sickening feeling of loneliness. I did not know the man who was in me, and was a stranger to myself.
“I entreat you to tell me why, and where.”
“Since you have made me this offer, I will tell you why. Lady Meryon objected to my friendship with you, and objected in a way which-”
She stopped, flushing palely. I caught her hand.
“That settles it!-that she should have dared! I’ll go up this minute and tell her we are engaged. Vanna-Vanna!”
For she disengaged her hand, quietly but firmly.
“On no account. How can I make it more plain to you? I should have gone soon in any case. My place is in the native city—that is the life I want. I have work there, I knew it before I came out. My sympathies are all with them. They know what life is—why even the beggars, poorer than poor, are perfectly happy, basking in the great generous sun. Oh, the splendour and riot of life and colour! That’s my life—I sicken of this.”
“But I’ll give it to you. Marry me, and we will travel till you’re tired of it.”
“Yes, and look on as at a play—sitting in the stalls, and applauding when we are pleased. No, I’m going to work there.” “For God’s sake, how? Let me come too.”