"Enigmatical!" said Mr. Carlisle. "The only thing I understand is this—and this—" and he kissed alternately her cheek and lips. "Here is my wife—here is what I wish her to be. It will be all right the twenty-first of next month. What will you do after that, Eleanor?"
Eleanor was silent, mortified, troubled, silenced. What was the use of trying to explain herself?
"What do you want to do, Eleanor? Give all your money to the poor? I believe that is your pet fancy. Is that what you mean to do?"
Eleanor's cheeks burnt again. "You know I have very little money to give, Mr. Carlisle. But I have determined to give myself."
"To me?"
"No, no. I mean, to duties and commands higher than any human obligation. And they may, and probably will, oblige me to live in a way that would not please you."
"Let us see. What is the novelty?"
"I am going to live—it is right I should tell you, whether you will believe me or not,—I am going to live henceforth not for this world but the other."
"How?" said he, looking at her with his clear brilliant eyes.
"I do not know, in detail. But you know, in the Church service, the pomps and vanities of the world are renounced; whatever that involves, it will find me obedient."