"Then if your father is alive, he is Sir Victor and not you?"
Those were the first words she spoke; her tone cold, her glance unsympathetic.
His heart contracted.
"He will never interfere with my claim—they assure me of that. Alive in reality, he is dead, to the world. Edith, would it make any difference—if I lost title and estate, would I also lose you?"
The beseeching love in his eyes might have moved her, but just at present she felt as though a stone lay in her bosom instead of a heart.
"I am not a sentimental sort of girl, Sir Victor," she answered steadily. "I am almost too practical and worldly, perhaps. And I must own it would make a difference. I have told you I am not in love with you—as yet—you have elected to take me and wait for that. I tell you now truthfully, if you were not Sir Victor Catheron, I would not marry you. It is best I should be honest, best I should not deceive you. You are a thousand times too good for so mercenary a creature as I am, and if you leave me it will only be serving me right. I don't want to break my promise, to draw back, but I feel in the mood for plain speaking this morning. If you feel that you can't marry me on those terms—and I don't deserve that you should—now is the time to speak. No one will be readier than I to own that it serves me right."
He looked and listened, pale to the lips.
"Edith, in Heaven's name, do you wish me to give you up?"
"No, I wish nothing of the sort. I have promised to marry you, and I am ready to keep that promise; but if you expect love or devotion from me, I tell you frankly I have neither to give. If you are willing still to take me, and"—smiling—"I see you are—I am still ready to be your wife—your true and faithful wife from the first—your loving wife, I hope, in the end."
They said no more. He led her back to the house, then left her. He hastened to Miss Catheron, more sombre even than when he had quitted her.