"Then he must agree to it."
The pure-minded old priest saw no difficulties, no dangers, no risks of breakdown in my girlish scheme. Already my husband had got all he had bargained for. He had got my father's money in exchange for his noble name, and if he wanted more, if he wanted the love of his wife, let him earn it, let him win it.
"That's only right, only fair. It will be worth winning, too—better worth winning than all your father's gold and silver ten times over. I can tell him that much anyway."
He had risen to his feet in his excitement, the simple old priest with his pure heart and his beautiful faith in me.
"And you, my child, you'll try to love him in return—promise you will."
A shiver ran through me when Father Dan said that—a sense of the repugnance I felt for my husband almost stifled me.
"Promise me," said Father Dan, and though my face must have been scarlet, I promised him.
"That's right. That alone will make him a better man. He may be all that people say, but who can measure the miraculous influence of a good woman?"
He was making for the door.
"I must go downstairs now and speak to your husband. But he'll agree. Why shouldn't he? I know he's afraid of a public scandal, and if he attempts to refuse I'll tell him that. . . . But no, that will be quite unnecessary. Good-bye, my child! If I don't come back you'll know that everything has been settled satisfactorily. You'll be happy yet. I'm sure you will. Ah, what did I say about the mysterious power of that solemn and sacred sacrament? Good-bye!"