“Yes, Dora, one day; we must all die once: but death is a solemn thing, not to be met unprepared; and these wild and passionate expressions are not a fitting preparation for this great reality. Give me back that letter.”
“No, let me keep it; it is mine, for me, concerns me most.”
“You must not, Dora; remember, you are to be another man’s wife next week.”
“Next week! ah! when I am, I will send it to you; let me keep it now.”
“To keep it now ought not to be any object to you. Give it me back. If you value it, you must not retain it; if you do not, you will not wish to keep it.”
“Till the last—till my—my wedding-day!” said she with a ghastly smile.
“If you wish for happiness, if you value peace, return it!”
“Happiness! Peace! we have long parted company—I lost them when the Erratic sailed; happiness, as the wife of a man who does not care for me—for whom I have no regard; peace with a husband who weds me while his heart is another’s, knowing, too, that mine is pre-engaged; who seeks me from pique; whom I have accepted from cowardice. Yes, ours will be a home of happiness and peace, the hearth of domestic felicity, the very center of all true and happy virtues.”
“Dora! Dora! how can you talk so!” cried Hilary, shocked and dismayed.
“Talk! ask me how I can act so! what does talking signify! ah me!”