Happily, this girl-wife of his was adorably feminine, and she decided
without inquiry that she was the cause of his melancholy.
"Tell me, John," she said suddenly. "I am brave. I can bear it."
The unexpected words stirred him from his disconsolate mood.
"Bear what, dear one?" he asked, looking at her with the wistful eyes
of Tantalus gazing at the luscious fruits which the wrathful winds
wafted ever from his parched lips.
"You know that you have made a mistake, and have brought me out here
to--to----"
"Ah, dear Heaven!" he sighed; "if I had but the strength of will to
adopt that subterfuge it might prove easier for you. But one thing I
cannot do, Hermione. I refuse to set you free by means of a lie. I
love you, and will love you till life itself has sped."
The trouble was not so bad, then. She nestled closer.
"What is it, John dear?" she cooed, quite confident of her ability to
slay dragons so long as he talked in that strain.
He trembled a little, so overpowering was the bitter-sweet sense of her
nearness.
"It is rather horrible that you and I should have to discuss dollars
and cents," he said, speaking with the slow distinctness of a man
pronouncing his own death-sentence, "but your father taunted me with
the fact that you are very wealthy.
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