"My dear Lady Valeria, I wonder that you have not learnt to understand society better—you, who are essentially a woman of society. Do you think the world would applaud you or respect you for making a very poor marriage—for uniting yourself to a man without pursuit or means or position? You, who with beauty, rank, and wealth, might marry almost any one you pleased. The world does not smile on such marriages, Lady Valeria. The world worships the star which mounts higher in the social firmament, not the star which bends earthward. You have your future before you, free and unfettered. You have wealth, which in this age means power. You can have nothing to regret in a foolish love of the past, love that drooped and died for want of a congenial atmosphere."
"Is that your last word upon this subject?" asked Valeria, looking at him intently with those angry eyes.
They were beautiful even in anger, those violet-dark eyes; but the light in them was a diabolical light, as of an evil spirit.
"My very last."
"Then we will say no more; and we will enter upon a new phase of our existence—the period of friendship. Perhaps you will be kind enough to take me back to the inn where I left my carriage, and order some tea for me?"
"I shall be very happy," said Bothwell quietly; and they walked off towards the inn, which was less than half a mile from the cottage.
"May I ask what you were doing in that deserted garden?" inquired Lady Valeria.
"I have been planning the improvement of my future home."
"Indeed! You are going to live in that desolate spot, with nothing but the sea and the sky to look at?"
"The sea and the sky, and some of the finest coast-scenery in England—the sands and the rocks and the wild hills. Don't you think that ought to be enough for any man to look at?"