No one before had suggested to
her the possibility of her being Richard's wife, and the idea was
terrible to her. She loved him, but not as a wife should love her
husband. He loved her, too; and now, as she remembered many things
in the past, she was half convinced that she to him was dearer
than a sister, child, or friend. He had forgotten the Swedish
baby's mother. She knew he had by his always checking her when she
attempted to speak of Eloise. Out of the ashes of this early love
a later love had sprung, and SHE was possibly its object. The
thought was a crushing one, and unmindful of Arthur's presence she
laid her head upon the table and sobbed,
"It cannot be. Richard will never ask me to be his wife. Never, oh
never."
"But if he does, Edith, you will not tell him NO. Promise me that.
It's my only hope of salvation from total ruin!" and Arthur drew
so near to her that his arm found its way around her slender
waist.
Had he struck her with a glittering dagger he could not have hurt
her more than by pleading with her to be another's wife.
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