“Oh, it will take care of itself in this air, dear. Besides, you are between me and the sun; and now you must tell me why you look so serious. It is not the first time I have noticed that look. I am your wife, you know, and I have a right to know your thoughts, and share all your joy, and all your sorrow. I do not mean to give up any of my rights which I got by marrying you.”
“Your rights, dearest! your poor little rights, which you have gained by changing name, and plighting troth. It is thinking of that—thinking of what you have bought, and the Price you have paid for it, which makes me sad at times, even when you are sitting by me, and laying your hand on my hand, and the sweet burden of your pure life and being on my soiled and baffled manhood.”
“But it was my own bargain, you know, dear, and I am satisfied with my purchase. I paid the price with my eyes open.”
“Ah, if I only could feel that!”
“But you know that it is true.”
“No, dearest, that is the pinch. I do not know that it is true. I often feel that it is just a bit not true. It was a one-sided bargain, in which one of the parties had eyes open and got all the advantage; and that party was I.”
“I will not have you so conceited,” she said, patting his hand once or twice, and looking more bravely than ever up into his eyes. “Why should you think you were so much the cleverer of the two as to get all the good out of our bargain? I am not going to allow that you were so much the more quick-witted and clear-sighted. Women are said to be as quick-witted as men. Perhaps it is not I who have been outwitted after all.”
“Look at the cost, Mary. Think of what you will have to give up. You cannot reckon it up yet.”
“What! are you going back to the riding-horses and lady's maid again? I thought I had convinced you on those points.”
“They are only a very small part of the price. You have left a home where everybody loved you. You knew it; you were sure of it. You had felt their love ever since you could remember anything.”