“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you are to marry me.”
“Did I not say I would?”
“Oh, Luke, if you could but love me! Luke, bad as I am, I would make you a good wife. Bad as I am, I could be good to you. After all, are we not both outcasts? Are we not both separated from the rest of the world by the crime we have committed?”
“Hush!” said the man. His face looked ghastly. “How dare you talk like that? There are subjects which even between man and wife”—his lips trembled—“must not be alluded to. I did what I did because—Heavens! we cannot talk of it!”
“We need not talk of it, but you know what we both have done.”
“I won’t listen to you. What is it you want? There are things which upset the strongest man’s nerves. You, Clara, are coarse. You are not a lady; you have been trained in hardness; you have no highly-strung nerves. It is terrible to be highly educated. It brings torture.”
“Aye, I can guess that. You had best make me your wife. I can keep those disordered nerves of yours in check. When the time comes, I shall know how to soothe you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I may not tell you now. After you have married me you will not regret it. When is the wedding day to be?”