“But it isn’t unselfish to propose such a thing to me in that cool way, as if it would cost you nothing at all,” said Captain Chancellor, with a sudden change of tone. “Oh, my darling, you do look so frightfully pretty with the tears in your eyes! Oh, you cold-blooded, aggravating little creature! Do you think that all the cousins in the world may not fall ill and die for what I care when I have you beside me? Don’t you think it possible I may want to be married whether you do or not?”
He had thrown his arms round her by now, was looking down into her face with all the old “irresistibleness” of eyes and lips, every trace of annoyance melted like snow before the sun.
“Yes,” she whispered, her mouth still quivering, “I suppose you do, or,” with an attempt at playfulness, “you wouldn’t have asked me. And I don’t want to put it off, Beauchamp, for it isn’t as if you were living here and I could often see you. Then I shouldn’t mind. But every time you go away I can’t help fancying something may go wrong and you may never come back. And it would be dreadful for you to go away—ever so far off, isn’t it?—just now. I should feel dreadfully superstitious about it,”—she gave a little shiver—“oh, it would be miserable!”
“Yes, and all the trousseau, and the remarks of Mrs Grundy and Mr Jones Robinson!” said Captain Chancellor.
“Those things would not trouble me much,” said Eugenia, quickly. “I wish you would not think all women are like that, Beauchamp.”
But he was in a good humour again by now, so he stroked her pretty hair fondly and told her, whatever being “like that” might mean, he certainly did not think any other woman was like her. And she smiled and was quite happy again, and asked him to promise never to look at her so coldly or speak so harshly, which he did.
“But something must have put you out a little, Beauchamp,” she went on, waxing bolder. “I thought so when you first came in. Are you much troubled about your cousin?”
“I am sorry, very sorry, both for him and for his family,” replied Captain Chancellor. “But do believe me, Eugenia, there is nothing wrong.”
And with this she had to be content. Not that she distrusted him; his tone sounded perfectly sincere, and she did not in the least suspect him of wishing to deceive her. She only fancied that he did not like to cloud the present to her by folly sharing with her his sorrow and anxiety, and this seemed to her a mistake.
A little silence ensued, for Eugenia would not press her inquiries further. Suddenly Beauchamp spoke again.