"You will be my wife, then. It is right and proper that you should return to New York, that you should live in my house. I shall take you there, and install you, properly. I shall insist upon that much. There is no way for you to escape the fulfillment of your contract. When you are my wife, you will have entered upon another contract which you will also keep. The contract to honor and obey."
"To love, honor, and obey," she corrected him.
"I shall not insist upon the first of those terms. The second one I shall endeavor to merit. The third one, I shall insist upon. Now, when will you—"
"Wait. You are sure that you do this because you love me?"
"Yes."
"And you are ready to sacrifice your name, your life, to a creature who, according to your view of conditions, should be the very last woman to bear your name—to become your wife? You do this because you love me? It must be a great love, indeed, Roderick, to compel you to such an act—oh it must have been a very great love, indeed."
"It is a great love; and there will be no sacrifice: there will be satisfaction."
She arose from the chair, but stood as she was, with her back toward him.
"You have forgotten one thing," she said, gently.
"I have forgotten nothing."