He stopped short, for with a low cry that was like a cry of fear, Lady Helena rose up. If he had said "I am going to be hanged," the consternation of her face could not have been greater. She put out her hand as though to ward off a blow.
"No, no!" she said, in that frightened voice; "not married. For God's sake, Victor, don't say that!"
"Lady Helena!"
He sat looking at her, utterly confounded.
"It can't be true," she panted. "You don't mean that. You don't want to be married. You are too young—you are. I tell you I won't hear of it! What do boys like you want of wives!—only three-and-twenty!"
He laughed good-humoredly.
"My dear aunt, boys of three-and-twenty are tolerably well-grown; it isn't a bad age to marry. Why, according to Debrett, my father was only three-and-twenty when he brought home a wife and son to Catheron Royals."
She sat down suddenly, her head against the back of a chair, her face quite white.
"Aunt Helena," the young man said anxiously, approaching her, "I have startled you; I have been too sudden with this. You look quite faint; what shall I get you?"
He seized a carafe of water, but she waved it away.