“But when weeks and months passed away, and you never heard from me——”
“I felt then that all was over between us; felt it in a despairing, hopeless kind of way. But I cherished no resentment against you—none.”
“But surely your uncle and aunt had some explanation to offer?”
“They told me that, through the failure of a bank, you had lost the whole of your fortune, and that, consequently, you had resigned all pretensions to my hand.”
“I thought that you might have called to see me; or, at least, have written to me. I could not understand why, if you still continued to care for me, you should choose to give me up simply because you had lost your fortune.”
“Indeed I could not. And I fail to understand it now. If you were poor, I was rich. What greater happiness could I have than to endow you with my plenty? When I gave you my love, it meant that I gave you everything I could call mine.”
“You look at the question from a woman’s point of view, Edith: I, from a man’s.”
“If I had lost my fortune as you lost yours, would you have given me up?” asked Edith.
“Nor I you. With me, to love and to be loved is everything. In comparison with that all else is as nothing.”
“Edith, I could not come to you penniless, and ask you to become my wife. When I found myself a poor man, I had no profession to fly to; I was acquainted with no business. I was a great hulking good-for-nothing, able to plough and reap, and earn a bare crust by the sweat of my brow, and that was all. How was it possible for me to become a dependent on you for my daily bread?”
“You would not have been a dependent, Lionel. My money would have been yours, just as my love was yours.”
“Still a woman’s view, my dearest,” said Lionel. “The noblest and the best, I at once admit. Only, the world would never have believed that I had not married you for your fortune.”
“You and I together, Lionel, could have afforded to set the world’s opinion at defiance.”
A fair, sweet English face was that which nestled so lovingly on Lionel’s shoulder. Edith West had large liquid dark brown eyes. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were nearly black, but the thick wavy masses of her hair had no shade deeper than that of chestnuts in autumn. The tints of the wild rose dwelt in her cheeks. About her there was a freshness, a sweetness, and a delicate grace, like that of a breezy morning in spring, when flowers are growing, and birds are singing, and all nature seems glad at heart.