"That's not true," I said calmly. "I think we'll tell each other the
truth, dear, whatever it is."
"Very well." She drew herself up, and her gaze met mine frankly and
unflinchingly. "I do love you, Stephen," she said, "but I'm not
going to marry you, because I know all about you."
"I'm sorry for that," I said. "It's certainly enough to prejudice
any one."
She smiled a wan little smile.
"Oh, my dear, I didn't mean anything unkind. I only meant that Lady
Bulstrode has told me all about your career and your ambitions, and
how necessary it is you should marry a rich woman. Do you think I'm
going to spoil your life because I'm fond of you?"
"No, I don't," I returned, "but I think you would if I gave you half
a chance." Then I paused. "As it is," I went on, "I shall simply
buy a marriage licence and a good second-hand thirty-ton boat, and
come and carry you off by force."
"I won't, Stephen--I won't. I'm simply not going to ruin your career
for you."
"My career!" I echoed. "Do you imagine I want to be a politician?
Do you think I want to sit on a stuffy green bench and listen to
people like dear old George, when I can sail the blue seas and love
you?"
"It certainly does sound more attractive," she admitted weakly.
"Of course it is," I said. "It was what we were created for. We'll
simply take up life where you left it off when your father died.
I'll buy that boat, and we'll wander about the world just as we
please for a thousand years, and we'll love each other like the sea
loves the wind and the night loves the stars."