Lady Coryston had also paled.
"I couldn't of course expect that you would have any friendly feeling
toward me," she said, after a moment.
"No--you couldn't--you couldn't indeed!"
Enid Glenwilliam sprang up, entered the summer-house, and stood over her
visitor, lightly leaning forward, her hands supporting her on a rustic
table that stood between them, her breath fluttering.
"Yes--perhaps now I could marry him--perhaps now I could!" she repeated.
"So long as I wasn't your dependent--so long as we had a free life of our
own--and knew exactly where we stood, with nothing to fear or to hope--the
situation might be faced. We might hope, too--father and I--to bring
_our_ ideas and _our_ principles to bear upon Arthur. I believe
he would adopt them. He has never had any ideas of his own. You have made
him take yours! But of course it seems inconceivable to you that we should
set any store by _our_ principles. You think all I want is money.
Well, I am like anybody else. I know the value of money. I like money and
luxury, and pretty things. I have been sorely tempted to let Arthur marry
me as he has once or twice proposed, at the nearest registry office, and
present you next day with the _fait accompli_--to take or leave.
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