"I promise I will talk
it all over with you again. When you are well. I promise I will meet you
somewhere so that we can talk. You can't talk now.
"I asked you not to talk now. All you want to know you shall know... Will
that do?"
"I'd like to know"
She looked round to see the door was closed, stood up and went to it.
Then she crouched beside me and began whispering very softly and rapidly
with her face close to me.
"Dear," she said, "I love you. If it will make you happy to marry me, I
will marry you. I was in a mood just now--a stupid, inconsiderate mood.
Of course I will marry you. You are my prince, my king. Women are such
things of mood--or I would have behaved differently. We say 'No' when we
mean 'Yes'--and fly into crises. So now, Yes--yes--yes. I will. I can't
even kiss you. Give me your hand to kiss that. Understand, I am yours.
Do you understand? I am yours just as if we had been married fifty
years. Your wife--Beatrice. Is that enough? Now--now will you rest?"
"Yes," I said, "but why?"
"There are complications.
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