‘Yes; I have thought about it.’
‘Well, dearest?’
‘I suppose it had better be so,’ said
she, standing up and withdrawing her hand.
She had accepted him; and now it was no longer possible
for him to go back to Basle except as a betrothed
man. She had accepted him; but there came upon
him a wretched feeling that none of the triumph of
successful love had come to him. He was almost
disappointed,—or if not disappointed, was
at any rate embarrassed. But it was necessary
that he should immediately conduct himself as an engaged
man. ‘And you will love me, Marie?’
he said, as he again took her by the hand.
‘I will do my best,’ she said.
Then he put his arm round her waist and kissed her,
and she did not turn away her face from him.
’I will do my best also to make you happy,’
he said.
‘I am sure you will. I believe you.
I know that you are good.’ There was another
pause during which he stood, still embracing her.
‘I may go now; may I not?’ she said.
‘You have not kissed me yet, Marie?’
Then she kissed him; but the touch of her lips was
cold, and he felt that there was no love in them.
He knew, though he could hardly define the knowledge
to himself, that she had accepted him in obedience
to her uncle. He was almost angry, but being
cautious and even-tempered by nature he repressed
the feeling. He knew that he must take her now,
and that he had better make the best of it.
She would, he was sure, be a good wife, and the love
would probably come in time.
‘We shall be together this evening; shall we
not?’ he asked.
‘O, yes,’ said Marie, ‘if you please.’
It was, as she knew, only reasonable now that they
should be together. Then he let her go, and
she walked off to her room.
‘I suppose it had better be so,’ Marie
Bromar had said to her lover, when in set form he
made his proposition. She had thought very much
about it, and had come exactly to that state of mind.
She did suppose that it had better be so. She
knew that she did not love the man. She knew
also that she loved another man. She did not
even think that she should ever learn to love Adrian
Urmand. She had neither ambition in the matter,
nor even any feeling of prudence as regarded herself.
She was enticed by no desire of position, or love
of money. In respect to all her own feelings
about herself she would sooner have remained at the
Lion d’Or, and have waited upon the guests day
after day, and month after month. But yet she
had supposed ‘that it had better be so.’
Her uncle wished it,—wished it so strongly
that she believed it would be impossible that she
could remain an inmate in his house, unless she acceded
to his wishes. Her aunt manifestly thought that
it was her duty to accept the man, and could not understand
how so manifest a duty, going hand in hand as it did
with so great an advantage, should be made a matter
of doubt. She had not one about her to counsel
her to hold by her own feelings. It was the
practice of the world around her that girls in such
matters should do as they were bidden. And then,
stronger than all, there was the indifference to her
of the man she loved!
