"Is he living or dead?"
"Living, I believe. By Heaven! I have half a mind yet to hunt him down, and hand him over to the hangman for the deed he has done!"
"An ancient name and family honor are wonderful things on this side of the Atlantic, a couple of million dollars on ours. They can save the murderer from the gallows. We won't talk about it, Sir Victor—it makes you unhappy I see; only if ever I—if ever I," laughing and blushing a little, "come to be mistress of that big, romantic old house, I shall wall that room up. It will always be a haunted chamber—a Bluebeard closet for me."
"If ever you are mistress," he repeated. "Edith, my dearest, when will you be?"
"Who knows? Never, perhaps."
"Edith—again!"
"Well, who can tell. I may die—you may die—something may happen. I can't realize that I ever will be. I can't think of myself as Lady Catheron."
"Edith, I command you! Name the day."
"Now, my dear Sir Victor—"
"Dear Victor, without the prefix; let all formality end between us. Why need we wait? You are your own mistress, I my own master; I am desperately in love—I want to be married. I will be married. There is nothing to wait for—I won't wait. Edith shall it be—this is the last of May—shall it be the first week of July?"