"Oh, Mr. Chandos, you know. It is not I who would object; but your family. And—perhaps—yourself."
"Anne, I vow I have a great mind to punish you for that last word. Oh, you silly child!" he continued, putting his arms round my waist and holding me close before him. "But that it would punish me as well as you, I'd not speak to you for three days: I'd let you think I took you at your word."
"Please don't joke. Don't laugh at me."
"Joke! laugh! I suppose you think that under the 'altered circumstances,' as you call them, I ought to renew my vows. And, by the way, I don't know that I ever did make you a formal offer; one that you could use against me in a suit of breach of promise. Miss Hereford, I lay my heart and hand at your disposal. Will you condescend to be my future wife, Lady Chandos?"
Partly from vexation, partly from a great tumult of bliss, I gave no answer. Sir Harry took one for himself. Ay, and was welcome to take it.
With my face in a burning heat,—with my heart in a glow of love, as if filled with the strains of some delightful melody,—with my whole being thrilling with rapture,—I ran upstairs, barely in time to change my dress for dinner, and nearly ran against Lady Chandos, who was coming out of the east wing.
"There are twin genii, who, strong and mighty,
Under their guidance mankind retain;
And the name of the lovely one is Pleasure,
And the name of the loathly one is Pain.