I went on to the discussion of romance. I talked vaguely of men who had loved women infinitely above them.
“Even,” I ended, “as I love you, have always loved you, shall always love you. I suppose I ought to have kept silence, but I believe you are generous enough not to be angry with me for wishing you to know how much I value you above all other women.”
I turned away apparently overcome, and watched the effect of my speech in a looking-glass.
She was very moved, and her eyes filled with tears.
“Why should you not tell me?” she murmured, after a pause. From my point of vantage I could see in her face that my cause was a winning one.
“I ought not to have told you. I have hardly a shilling in the world. I owe everything to Mr. Gascoyne, whilst you——” I broke off.
“Do you think women only value love when it is accompanied by worldly advantage? Surely you are doing us an injustice. Won’t you believe?”
I turned on her eagerly. Really, now I come to think over the whole scene, I must confess I played it uncommonly well. I was of course in love with her. She did not rouse fire and passion in me as Sibella did, but I was certainly in love. At the same time, I had none of the modest views about myself to which I had pretended, and it is decidedly difficult to play a half genuine love affair with the tongue in the cheek.
I was somewhat afraid to take her in my arms; she had always been so very stately, but I was surprised at the abandon with which she gave herself to me. It was only for a moment, however; the natural dignity of the woman reasserted itself.
“What on earth will they say?”