"Meet? why, of course we shall meet! Do you think anything in heaven or earth would make me give up the attempt, hopeless as it may seem, to win you? I know you don't care a rap for me now, but I cannot, dare not despair. I've too much at stake. There is the awful sting of this misfortune. Even if you, by some blessed intervention of Providence, were ready to marry me, I don't see how I could drag you into such a sea of trouble. Besides, there's old De Burgh; he must be kept in good-humor. By Heaven! this miserable want of money is the most utter degradation—irresistible, enslaving. I feel like a beaten cur. I am tied hand and foot. Had I not been such a reckless idiot, why, your misfortunes might have been my best chance. I dare say that sounds shabby enough, but I like to let you see what I am, good and bad; besides, I am ready to do anything, right or wrong, to win you."
"Ah, Mr. De Burgh, no crookedness ever succeeds. And then I do not deserve that you should think so much or care so much for me, for I do not wish to marry you or any one. My plan of life is framed on quite different lines. Do put me out of your mind, and think of your own fortunes. Do not vex Lord De Burgh; but oh! pray give up racing and gambling. You know I really do like you, not exactly in the way you wish, but it adds greatly to my troubles (for I am very sorry to lose my fortune, I assure you) to see you so—so disturbed."
"If you look at me so kindly with those sweet wet eyes I shall lose my head," cried De Burgh, who was already beside himself, for the gulf which had suddenly yawned between him and the woman he coveted seemed to grow wider as he looked at it. "I am the most unlucky devil in existence, and I have brought you ill luck. I should have kept away from you, for you are a hundred thousand times too good for me; but as I have thrown myself headlong into the delicious pain of loving you, won't you give me a chance? Promise to wait for me: a week, a day, may see me wealthy, and I swear I will strive to be worthy too: why were those bush-rangers such infernally bad-shots?—and I can be no use to you whatever?"
"But I have many kind friends, Mr. De Burgh. You must not distress yourself about me. I am not frightened, I assure you. Now I have told you everything, don't you think you would better go?" She rose as she spoke, and held out her hand.
"Better for you, yes, but not for me. Look here, Katherine, don't banish me. I am obliged to go with old De Burgh to Paris. He is making for Cannes again, and asked me to come so far. Of course he has a chain round my neck. I must obey orders like his bond-slave, but when I come back—don't banish me. I swear I'll be an unobtrusive friend, and I may be of use. Don't send me quite away; in short, I won't take a dismissal. What is it you object to? What absurd stories have been told you to set you against me? Other women have liked me well enough."
"I have no doubt you deserve to be loved, Mr. De Burgh, but there are feelings that, like the wind, blow where they list; we cannot tell whence they come or whither they go. I am sorry I do not love you, but—I am very tired. If you care to come and see me when you come back, come if I have any place in which to receive you."
"If I write, will you answer my letters?"
"Oh no; don't write; I would rather you did not."
"I am a brute to keep you when you look so white; I'll go. Good-by for the present—only for the present, you dear, sweet woman!" He kissed her hand twice and went quickly out of the room.
Katherine heaved a sigh of relief. The degree of liking she had for De Burgh made her feel greatly distressed at having been obliged to give him pain. Yet she was not by any means disposed to trust him; his restless eagerness to gratify every whim and desire as it came to him, the kind of harshness which made him so indifferent to the feelings and opinions of those who opposed him—this was very repellent to Katherine's more considerate and sympathetic nature. Besides, and above all, De Burgh was not Errington; and it needs no more to explain why the former, who had no reason hitherto to complain of the coldness of women, found the only one he had ever loved with a high order of affection untouched by his wooing.