“I will not say ‘a great misery,’” he replied. “That is too strong! But it would have been—yes!—a great inconvenience!”
She was silent a minute,—then she said:
“Well, I’m very glad you have been so frank with me! I was rather unhappy—because—because—you’ve been so good, and I have misunderstood you. You have really saved Jack’s life—”
“For my own selfish purposes,” he put in.
“You may say that if you like!” and she gave a little gesture of incredulity. “But even if he had not lived, you need not have married me, surely! That is such a strange idea of yours! I should have refused you all the time!”
“Would you?” His eyes met hers for one second, then he turned away and lit his pipe. “I dare say you would! Anyhow as things have turned out, all is for the best! Jack is alive and well—Jack is a millionaire—and you are going to marry him, and publish your father’s book. Nothing could be more satisfactory. And you will be a happy, fortunate, brilliant little lady,—much loved and well taken care of—and I—”
“Yes? What of you?”
He smiled into her questioning eyes.
“I? I shall live in my usual way—a placid, comfortable, easy way—a selfish way—the life of a student and philosopher. I suppose I shall see you sometimes—”
“Oh, very often!” she said, quickly.