“Your mother will never consent.”
“We will dispense with her consent, dear Roger. When we return to the house man and wife she will bow to the inevitable, and laugh with the rest of us. It’s a long ways off to my birthday. One hundred and fifty days.” She said this so naively that Roger immediately took her in his arms and kissed her repeatedly. “Oh, my angel, what an age to be kept in durance vile.”
“Yes, Roger, an awfully long time, and so many things can happen in that time. All I lose by marrying you now are my estates, which will revert to a little cousin whom I have seen but twice. Grandpapa disinherited her father for daring to marry a governess, so papa got it all. Now little Dora will get it back; that is when mamma is through with it, so you see I am really playing the good Samaritan in two cases—marrying you, and enriching Dora.”
“Ah, you witch,” cried Roger, catching her to him again. “Who could resist your sweet persuasive tongue. Not I. Do with me what you will. We cannot be married too soon to suit me. Shall we enlist Andrew in our behalf?”
“No, no!” exclaimed Victoria quickly. “He—he—” she stopped confused.
“He—he—he what?” laughed Roger. “He don’t want you himself, does he?”
Victoria was silent. Roger held her with such force that she almost screamed. “Has he ever made love to you, my darling?”
“Just a little, a long time ago, but I think he has given up all thoughts of it lately.”
“Well I should hope he had,” said Roger, somewhat dryly.
“But do you know, Roger, dear, I am awfully afraid of him at times. He has such a peculiar manner, and really fascinates me in a way I cannot describe to you. I like him, and still I hate him. I am drawn toward him, yet he repels me. Did you ever know of his having any mesmeric power?”