“I have long borne all the burdens of my family; I am not disposed to consult them on a matter which concerns myself alone. My wife will be respected by all of them. Do not fear otherwise. And,” he added, with a smile, “we will not sell our game to Leadenhall or send our Shetland ponies to the mines.”
The allusion to their walk through the snowy lanes made the absolute reality of what he was saying break in on her like a burst of light, light bewildering and unbearable.
“You must be out of your mind,” she said, in a broken voice, “or you are playing a cruel comedy.”
“I am not a comedian. And why should you suppose it unlikely for a man to love you and respect you?”
“But you!—I am his daughter. You said once—it was like being the hangman’s daughter. I am low-born, low-bred; I am utterly unworthy in my own sight.”
She was painfully agitated. She could not control her emotion. Her heart beat tumultuously, her lips were white and trembled.
“Madam,” said Hurstmanceaux, very gravely and with extreme grace, “you are the woman that I love. If you accept what I offer, I swear to you that my family and the world will receive and reverence my wife. I can say no more. My future is in your hands.”
It was impossible for her to doubt his sincerity; she was silent, overcome by emotion. She did not look at him as she answered.
“I am deeply touched,” she said, in a low tone. “I am honored——”
He gave an impatient movement.