“No such thing, neither!” said Lady Strange, indignantly. “I admire him for his constancy—for I warrant he is constant to her, and will be constant to her; and I wouldn’t have him else, not for the world. Thank Heaven, I am above envy.”
A slight emphasis upon the I—so slight as scarce to seem intended—was perhaps what drew from the other lady the answer:
“Don’t be too sure of the young fellow’s constancy. You know, Diana dear, you always have been somewhat credulous of men’s constancy—’tis your own fidelity makes you trustful, of course.”
“Doubt as much as you like, Isabella: we are all aware you have particular reasons to complain of men’s fickleness.”
Feeling that the preservation of the peace required an immediate diversion, Rashleigh broke in with the first remark that occurred to him as appropriate:
“Certainly this young man is a lover who has risked his life for the sake of love.”
“Ay, and that proves you and I were right at dinner, Cousin Rashleigh!” cried Lady Strange.
“Hardly so, my lady,” said Foxwell. “This young gentleman merely risked his life in coming to meet his beloved. He by no means counted surely upon losing it: his active endeavours to escape prove that. Mrs. Winter’s contention, which I supported, was that no man would deliberately give his life for the sake of love—by which I mean the passion of love, itself, apart from pity or duty or other consideration. Now, had this gentleman come to meet his beloved, knowing certainly that death awaited him in consequence, then indeed he would have proved your assertion.”
“Well, and how do you know he wouldn’t have done so, if the circumstances had required?” asked Lady Strange. “For my part, I believe he would.”
“Provided, of course,” added Rashleigh, “that by failing to meet her he might lose her for all time.”