“But is this really good? Papa told me it was rubbish.”
“It is a romance, but, in my opinion, a very fine one. The notion of the sailor being taught in prison by the priest, and sent back into the world an accomplished gentleman, to work out his vengeance, is superb.”
“No, now—you are telling me,” laughed she; and then, with feminine perversity, “Go on, what is the story?”
“Only that of an unjustly imprisoned man, who, escaping by a marvel, and becoming rich—as Dr. Johnson says, 'beyond the dreams of avarice'—devotes his life and fortune to revenge himself.”
“And does he?”
“He does, upon all his enemies save one.”
“And he—?” “She—was the wife of his greatest enemy, and Dantès spared her because he loved her.”
Sylvia turned away her head. “It seems interesting enough,” said she, coldly.
There was an awkward silence for a moment, which each seemed afraid to break. North bit his lips, as though regretting what he had said. Mrs. Frere beat her foot on the floor, and at length, raising her eyes, and meeting those of the clergyman fixed upon her face, rose hurriedly, and went to meet her returning husband.
“Come to dinner, of course!” said Frere, who, though he disliked the clergyman, yet was glad of anybody who would help him to pass a cheerful evening.