“Let me try my experiment, uncle, rash as it may look to you,” I said. “Nothing else will comfort and support me; and God knows I want comfort and support. Don’t think me obstinate. I am ready to admit that there are serious difficulties in my way.”
The vicar resumed his ironical tone.
“Oh!” he said. “You admit that, do you? Well, there is something gained, at any rate.”
“Many another woman before me,” I went on, “has faced serious difficulties, and has conquered them—for the sake of the man she loved.”
Doctor Starkweather rose slowly to his feet, with the air of a person whose capacity of toleration had reached its last limits.
“Am I to understand that you are still in love with Mr. Eustace Macallan?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“The hero of the great Poison Trial?” pursued my uncle. “The man who has deceived and deserted you? You love him?”
“I love him more dearly than ever.”
“Mr. Benjamin,” said the vicar, “if she recover her senses between this and nine o’clock to-morrow morning, send her with her luggage to Loxley’s Hotel, where I am now staying. Good-night, Valeria. I shall consult with your aunt as to what is to be done next. I have no more to say.”