"In the name of wonder, what am I to do? I can't get rid of it," he said, in a whimsical tone of voice, as he stroked her hair. "You know, May, the thing was not of my seeking. It was thrust upon me. I had no more notion it was coming than you had. I had no more notion I was related to those great Cheynes than you had. What am I to do? I don't know how to get rid of it. There is only one way, and that is, to commit high treason and get attainted; but in that case they take away one's head when they take away one's title. Of course, I shall no longer need what is inside my head, now that I am rich; still I am not sure that the treason would be a success. Can you suggest nothing that I could do, May?"
"No; nothing. But it is dreadful! Oh, so dreadful!"
He now saw that she was much more seriously distressed than he had at first imagined, and that her uneasiness could not be dispelled by badinage. He drew his chair as near as he could to hers, and taking one of her hands down from her face, held it in both his, and said, in a deep grave voice:
"May darling, I will not have you fret about this thing. It cannot be helped now, and we must only try and accommodate ourselves to circumstances in the best way we can. I'll tell you what I propose; that first all this legal business shall be disposed of, and that when I am getting near the end of that business you go over to Paris with your aunt, and that when I have taken the oath in the House I slip over quietly to Paris, and we get married at the Embassy there. We can then knock about the Continent for a year or two, until the town and country are done talking about us, and then come home, stay quietly for awhile at one of our country places before coming up to our house in Piccadilly, What do you think of that, darling?" He pressed her hand and raised it to his lips.
What did she think of that? It was worse and worse. Every word he said made it seem more dismal and hopeless. He was to go into the House of Lords, and she was to be married at the ambassador's in Paris. She was to stay at one of their country houses--stay there for awhile before coming up to their house in Piccadilly. Oh, it would never, never, do! She could not bear it! She was not suited to any such position. How cruel--how piteously cruel Fate was with her!
All she said was: "I cannot think of it now. I cannot think of it now. Do not ask me."
He saw that for the present it was useless to urge her further, and therefore changed the subject.
"You must know. May, that while I was in the doctor's books in the country--by-the-way, I had a most extraordinary doctor; I'll tell you more of him another time--I made up my mind to celebrate my return to town by spending part of my first day in London with you, and giving a supper to a lot of old pals in my old diggings in Long Acre."
She took down her hand from her face, and sat back in her chair.
"May, you are very pale? Are you unwell?"