“Why did you treat me so that last night?” he went on, “you perverse witch, you tormentor, you deserve to suffer for flouting your lord and master.”
“That was it,” she said, “you came in with the air of a conquering hero; I thought you would not woo me, that you claimed me too much like a master; that, perhaps, you didn’t love me, but only felt that you were my husband.”
He laughed quietly. “You coquette!” he said fondly, “you knew I loved you—you saw it in my eyes, for I know they devoured you—you felt it!”
Betty hung her head guiltily. “I could not help it,” she said, with a little sob, “I loved you,—and suddenly I thought you knew it, and were careless of it!”
He kissed her hands softly. “You knew I loved you!” he exclaimed reproachfully.
She looked up through her tears. “I love to hear you say it,” she murmured rapturously.
After awhile she looked around the miserable room.
“My love,” she cried, “can’t I take you away from this awful place? It breaks my heart to have you here! With that female dragon, too.”
“Nay, grieve not, Betty,” he answered smiling, “it shines with you in it. How I shall picture you here—in your white and pink gown, with the little hood on your head—the house is a palace, dear! It is too good for a poor man now.”
“And you are poor!” she exclaimed, her tears breaking out afresh, “you are poor and I—I have everything!”