"Perhaps I will be soon; you are all taking a good way to make me so."
"Georgia!"
"It will be better for you, you know—you can marry a lady then."
"Georgia!"
"Oh, you can marry your cousin—she will never disgrace you, Richmond," she said, with a strange, short laugh.
"Georgia!"
"Oh, Richmond, why did you marry me? Why did you ever marry me?" she cried, suddenly changing her tone to one of piercing anguish, and wringing her pale fingers.
"Because," he said, flushing deeply, "I mistook you for a noble-hearted, generous girl, instead of the vindictive, rebellious one you have turned out to be. Because I made a mistake, as many another has done before me, and will do for all time. Are you satisfied now, my dear?"
She rose from her seat and paced up and down, wringing her hands.
"Oh, I thought I would have been so happy! You said you loved me, and I believed you. I did not know you wanted a wife to bear the brunt of your mother's sneers and your cousin's insults—some one to afford a subject of laughter to your friends. Oh, Richmond, I wish—I wish I had died before I ever met you!"