“Sometimes,” she ventured, “imprudence is a virtue.”
“And its own reward!” he retorted. They had passed the Cross, they were by this time high on the hill, with one accord they came to a stand. “However, I will think it over,” he continued. “I will think it over, and what a cousin may, a cousin shall.”
“A cousin may much when he is Lord Audley.”
“A poor man in a fine coat! A butterfly in an east wind.” He removed his curly-brimmed hat and stood gazing over the prospect, over the wide valley that far and near gleamed with many a sheet of flood-water. “Have you ever thought, Mary, what that means?” he continued with feeling. “To be the shadow of a name! A ghost of the past! To have for home a ruin, and for lands a few poor farms—in place of all that we can see from here! For all this was once ours. To live a poor man among the rich! To have nothing but——”
“Opportunities!” she answered, her voice betraying how deeply she was moved—for she too was an Audley. “For, with all said and done, you start where others end. You have no need to wait for a hearing. Doors stand open to you that others must open. Your name is a passport—is there a Stafford man who does not thrill to it? Surely these things are something. Surely they are much?”
“You would make me think so!” he exclaimed.
“Believe me, they are.”
“They would be if I had your enthusiasm!” he answered, moved by her words. “And, by Jove,” gazing with admiration at her glowing face, “if I had you by me to spur me on there’s no knowing, Mary, what I might not try! And what I might not do!”
Womanlike, she would evade the crisis which she had provoked. “Or fail to do!” she replied. “Perhaps the most worthy would be left undone. But I must go now,” she continued. “I have to give my uncle his medicine. I fear I am late already.”
“When shall I see you again?” he asked, trying to detain her.