“John,” whispered Lady Lucy’s voice, “here I am, John. I have given them all the slip that I might talk to you for a moment. You must know that I have had quite an ovation—they say that my fortune is made and that all London will be ringing with my name to-morrow; and now tell me, what did you think of it—how did you like me?”
“What did I think of it?” groaned John. “My dear, it nearly broke my heart!”
He saw the eager eyes flash, and felt the hand upon his arm tremble with anger.
“What!” she was beginning wrathfully, but broke off and continued in a softer tone: “You are vexed, I suppose, because I deceived you?”
“Nay, madam, ’tis not that. I had liefer you had told me the truth, yet that is a small matter. But that you should thus exhibit yourself—”
She snatched away her hand.
“You would have kept me all to yourself, I suppose?”
“God knows I would!” said he.
“And you have the face to tell me so. You would have me stifle my ambition—make nothing of my talent—throw away the fame and fortune which are now actually within my grasp? And pray, John Cotley, what would you leave me?”
“Peace of mind,” said Cotley. “Honour—”