‘She is, I tell you.’
‘I don’t think so, love.’
‘She was burnt, I tell you!’ he exclaimed.
‘Now to please me, admit the bare possibility of her being alive—just the possibility.’
‘O yes—to please you I will admit that,’ he said quickly. ‘Yes, I admit the possibility of her being alive, to please you.’
She looked at him in utter perplexity. The words could only have been said in jest, and yet they seemed to savour of a tone the furthest remove from jesting. There was his face plain to her eyes, but no information of any kind was to be read there.
‘It is only natural that I should be curious,’ she murmured pettishly, ‘if I resemble her as much as you say I do.’
‘You are handsomer,’ he said, ‘though you are about her own height and size. But don’t worry yourself. You must know that you are body and soul united with me, though you are but my housekeeper.’
She bridled a little at the remark. ‘Wife,’ she said, ‘most certainly wife, since you cannot dismiss me without losing your character and position, and incurring heavy penalties.’
‘I own it—it was well said, though mistakenly—very mistakenly.’