"Then you are a rich woman, even as riches go. You might have your choice of the best partis in England. You would have no difficulty in marrying a man who really has what I only have in your imagination--family and influence. For instance, there is Archie Beaupré. He has some of the bluest blood in England in his veins. He has just the things you want. Why not marry him?"
"If I did, you would hang."
He smiled. It seemed to me that this time his smile was a little strained.
"Again I am compelled to ask, why do you wish to marry me?--me, in particular?"
"I will hint at a possible reason--one which may commend itself to you. You said, just now, that when first you saw me something told you that we were sympathetic. That something told you aright--we are."
I had hit him at last. Something came into his face and eyes which said I had. It stayed only for a moment. But it stayed long enough to show that, under that expressionless mask, there was a volcano raging.
"You certainly are an unusual type of woman."
"Precisely; and you are an unusual type of man. We approximate."
He laughed out loud. But, to my ear, there was something in his laughter which was scarcely gay.
"But, my dearest lady, you are aware that I am already engaged to be married?"