“Dr. Ramsay is coming to luncheon to-morrow,” she said, “and I shall tell them both that I’m going to be married to you.”
“He won’t like it,” said Craddock, rather nervously.
“I’m sure I don’t care. If you like it and I like it, the rest can think as they choose.”
“I leave everything in your hands,” he said.
They had arrived at the portico, and Bertha looked at it doubtfully.
“I suppose I ought to go in,” she said, wishing Edward to persuade her to take one more turn round the garden.
“Yes, do,” he said. “I’m so afraid you’ll catch cold.”
It was charming of him to be so solicitous about her health, and of course he was right. Everything he did and said was right; for the moment Bertha forgot her wayward nature, and wished suddenly to subject herself to his strong guidance. His very strength made her feel curiously weak.
“Good-night, my beloved,” she whispered, passionately.
She could not tear herself away from him; it was utter madness. Their kisses never ended.