'Or to deceive me. I am willing to suppose,' she repeated, stopping him
by a gesture as he tried to speak, 'that you are in earnest for the
time, my lord, in desiring to make me your wife, strange and sudden as
the desire appears. It is a great honour, but it is one which I must as
earnestly and positively decline.' 'Why?' he cried, gaping, and then, 'O 'swounds, ma'am, you don't mean
it?' he continued piteously. 'Not have me? Not have me? And why?' 'Because,' she said modestly, 'I do not love you, my lord.' 'Oh, but--but when we are married,' he answered eagerly, rallying his
scattered forces, 'when we are one, sweet maid--' 'That time will never come,' she replied cruelly. And then gloom
overspreading her face, 'I shall never marry, my lord. If it be any
consolation to you, no one shall be preferred to you.' 'Oh, but, damme, the desert air and all that!' Lord Almeric cried,
fanning himself violently with his hat. 'I--oh, you mustn't talk like
that, you know. Lord! you might be some queer old put of a dowager!' And
then, with a burst of sincere feeling, for his little heart was inflamed
by her beauty, and his manhood--or such of it as had survived the
lessons of Vauxhall, and Mr. Thomasson--rose in arms at sight of her
trouble, 'See here, child,' he said in his natural voice, 'say yes, and
I'll swear I'll be kind to you! Sink me if I am not! And, mind you,
you'll be my lady. You'll to Ranelagh and the masquerades with the best.
You shall have your box at the opera and the King's House; you shall
have your frolic in the pit when you please, and your own money for loo
and brag, and keep your own woman and have her as ugly as the bearded
lady, for what I care--I want nobody's lips but yours, sweet, if you'll
be kind. And, so help me, I'll stop at one bottle, my lady, and play as
small as a Churchwarden's club! And, Lord, I don't see why we should not
be as happy together as James and Betty!' She shook her head; but kindly, with tears in her eyes and a trembling
lip. She was thinking of another who might have given her all this, or
as much as was to her taste; one with whom she had looked to be as happy
as any James and Betty. 'It is impossible, my lord,' she said.
'Honest Abraham?' he cried, very downcast.
'Oh, yes, yes!' 'S'help me, you are melting!' 'No, no!' she cried, 'it is not--it is not that! It is impossible, I
tell you. You don't know what you ask,' she continued, struggling with
the emotion that almost mastered her.