"Was that what you had to say?" said Pen.
"You are going to her this very night, I am sure of it. There is no denying it. You never cared for me."
_"Et vous?"
"Et moi c'est différent._ I have been spoilt early. I can not live out of the world, out of excitement. I could have done so, but it is too late. If I can not have emotions, I must have the world. You would offer me neither one nor the other. You are blasé in every thing, even in ambition. You had a career before you, and you would not take it. You give it up!—for what?—for a bétise, for an absurd scruple. Why would you not have that seat, and be such a puritain? Why should you refuse what is mine by right, entendez-vous?"
"You know all then?" said Pen.
"Only within a month. But I have suspected ever since Baymouth —n'importe since when. It is not too late. He is as if he had never been; and there is a position in the world before you yet. Why not sit in Parliament, exert your talent, and give a place in the world to yourself, to your wife? I take celui-là. Il est bon. 1l est riche. Il est—vous le connaissez autant que moi enfin. Think you that I would not prefer un homme, qui fera parler de moi? If the secret appears I am rich à millions. How does it affect me? It is not my fault. It will never appear."
"You will tell Harry every thing, won't you?"
"Je comprends. Vous refusez" said Blanche, savagely. "I will tell Harry at my own time, when we are married. You will not betray me, will you? You, having a defenseless girl's secret, will not turn upon her and use it? S'il me plait de le cacher, mon secret; pourquoi le donnerai-je? Je l'aime, mon pauvre père, voyez-vous? I would rather live with that man than with you fades intriguers of the world. I must have emotions—il m'en donne. Il m'écrit. Il écrit tres-bien, voyez-vous—comme un pirate—comme un Bohémien—comme un homme. But for this I would have said to my mother—Ma mère! quittons ce lâche mari, cette lâche société—retournons à mon père.
"The pirate would have wearied you like the rest," said Pen.
"Eh! Il me faut des émotions" said Blanche. Pen had never seen her or known so much about her in all the years of their intimacy as he saw and knew now: though he saw more than existed in reality. For this young lady was not able to carry out any emotion to the full; but had a sham enthusiasm, a sham hatred, a sham love, a sham taste, a sham grief, each of which flared and shone very vehemently for an instant, but subsided and gave place to the next sham emotion.