"And what in creation will you do?" he ejaculated, surprised from his accustomed politeness into an abrupt betrayal of native rudeness.
"I am going to learn a trade and work at it, and have a shop, when I can manage one."
"Good heavens, Lucy, you are mad! What has put such an insane idea into your head?"
"Thought, thought—constant, harassing, anxious thought. As a teacher or governess I could do little more than support myself; and I know I have taste and enterprise, and George will assist me, and I feel I shall succeed."
"Never to be my wife afterwards!"
"James!" and she started to her feet, the hot blood mounting to her face. She could not believe she had heard aright, and came back to him, laying her hand upon his arm and looking beseechingly into his face. He was angry now. Pride, and more than pride, vanity, were aroused. What! his wife to have been behind a counter!—to hear it said, in after years, "O yes! Mrs. Allan was a shop girl!" It was not that his treasure would be exposed to rude and unfeeling association; it was not that he would shield her from toil! He shook her from him—
"As true as I am speaking, if you persist in this, I will never marry you!"
"You never shall!"
She turned quietly, but firmly, and went towards the door. There were no tears, no expostulations. It was not her nature. Neither was that deep emphatic tone the voice of passion. But a mask had dropped from the real character of one she had almost reverenced, who had been invested by the halo of her love with every high and noble quality.
"Lucy!"