Miss Carlyle’s cold was better that evening, in fact she seemed quite herself again, and Mr. Carlyle introduced the subject of his marriage. It was after dinner that he began upon it.
“Cornelia, when I married Lady Isabel Vane, you reproached me severely with having kept you in the dark—”
“If you had not kept me in the dark, but consulted me, as any other Christian would, the course of events would have been wholly changed, and the wretchedness and disgrace that fell on this house been spared to it,” fiercely interrupted Miss Carlyle.
“We will leave the past,” he said, “and consider the future. I was about to remark, that I do not intend to fall under your displeasure again for the like offense. I believe you have never wholly forgiven it.”
“And never shall,” cried she, impetuously. “I did not deserve the slight.”
“Therefore, almost as soon as I know it myself, I acquaint you. I am about to marry a second time, Cornelia.”
Miss Carlyle started up. Her spectacles dropped off her nose, and a knitting-box which she happened to have on her knees, clattered to the floor.
“What did you say?” she uttered, aghast.
“I’m about to marry.”
“You!”