"Yes; tired," I gasped; "that's all."
But I knew I must marry him. I controlled myself. I smiled; I waited. I
wished him to go on, but he was peering into my straining eyes with
anxious sympathy.
"I'm afraid you're too tired to talk with me to-day," he said; "but--you
will let me come again?"
"Yes."
Such a relief! Though what was to be gained by waiting? What must be must
be.
Indeed an older man might have seen the wisdom of speaking at once. But
Strathay looked wistfully at me for a moment, then turned away with a big,
honest schoolboy sigh; and something like a sob broke his voice as he
whispered:--
"I--I would do anything to serve you."
Then he went away.
Perverse! I _will_ marry him. Other women take husbands so. I like
him; I should like him even if he were not an Earl--and his name a career.
I shall make Strathay as fine a Countess as any cold, blonde English girl,
and he'll be proud of me, and every man will envy him. I shall wrong him
less than I should have wronged John Burke. I should have hated John if I
had married him, for he'd expect love, where Strathay will be content to
give it.
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