She laughs contemptuously. "No, thank you. We'll stop short of money favours. I haven't come to that yet."
"But what can you do?" persisted Sir Francis. "Five hundred pounds a year! Why, it wouldn't keep you in gowns for three months—and do you expect to eat, drink, pay rent, and clothe yourself, on such a beggar's pittance?"
"Oh, I shall get into debt for a year, of course," says Lady Jean coolly, "and then—marry—I suppose."
He turns very white. "You say that to—me?"
"My dear Frank, why not? You are a man of the world; you don't suppose I am going to stagnate in poverty and obscurity till some happy chance gives you the freedom I possess. Not I—pshaw! it is absurd. I must do the best for myself. You are not surely so selfish as to expect me to throw away a good chance for—you."
"I thought you loved me," he says gloomily; "you told me so."
"Love you! Of course I love you! But what use—now, any more than before? Do you expect fidelity in a case like ours? We have both outlived the age of romance, and now, of course, I must be doubly cautious not to draw down calumny on my head. Were you free it would be a different matter. But, of course, your wife is a saint, and Keith Athelstone an anchorite. Fraternal affection, when unfettered by fraternity, is so pure and beautiful a thing!"
He groans impatiently. "I know what you mean. But she never cared for him; and now he has broken off his projected marriage, and left England."
Lady Jean looks up in surprise.
"Left England? Are you sure?"