“Different things. They do not confide in me. I am not sympathetic enough.”
“Are you not?” inquired Mr. Wainbridge. “I think you are. I should love to confide in you.”
He looked again at her, so did Mr. Herbert, and Lily observing both looks concerned herself with Mr. Herbert’s, which was one of admiration—developing admiration.
It was then that marriage with him appeared desirable, or rather the owning of him would be pleasant. Mrs. Phillips imagined her wedding and the wedding dress! He could admire another woman!
They got up from the table, and Mrs. Phillips stayed with the men to smoke. After his cigarette Sir John went to the Club. Mrs. Carden seated herself on a sofa and demanded a footstool, then when Launa announced an engagement for the afternoon, Lavinia arose and took her departure. Launa and Mr. Wainbridge drove off in a hansom.
“Do you think they are really going to hear music?” asked Mr. Herbert, when Lily and he were alone.
“Because it is so hot, and because _I_ would much rather talk to you here, so I naturally suppose every other man would rather talk to the woman he loves than listen to any music. I have made up my mind to marry you in a month.”
“Very well. You know my bargain. I cannot live with my sister; she swamps me. Her mind and her life are like a bog. It is dull living alone; you would provide an element of excitement.”
“You say marriage is not love. Is it exciting?” he asked.
“A husband should be reviving,” she answered, “and should endeavour to be—a lover—always.”
“You are to keep your rooms; I am to keep mine. Is that it?”
“We are seldom to have breakfast together.”
He gravely pulled off first one with two large turquoises—he had given it to her—next a small one with a diamond, then her wedding ring which he put in his pocket, and replaced it with one almost exactly like it.
“With my body I thee worship,” he said, and he added a ring with three large sapphires in a light gold setting. The stones were set high and they shone.
“How beautiful the stones are,” she answered.
“I have always been jealous of that ring,” he said.
“Have you? ‘Jealousy is as cruel as the grave,’ saith Solomon. Do not be cruel.”
“I could not be anything with you but kind,” he replied, with a sort of unsteadiness, for though she was not lovely she was alluring, fascinating. He could have followed her away from everything, through disasters and fire without feeling it, until she left him.