"No, sir; the sacrifices shall all be made by me. It is the part of a
woman to be ever sacrificial!" Poor Mrs. Dobbs Broughton! "You shall
give up nothing. The world is at your feet, and you shall have
everything,--youth, beauty, wealth, station, love,--love; friendship
also, if you will accept it from one so poor, so broken, so secluded
as I shall be." At each of the last words there had been a desperate
sob; and as she was still crouching in the middle of the room,
looking up into Dalrymple's face while he stood over her, the scene
was one which had much in it that transcended the doings of everyday
life, much that would be ever memorable, and much, I have no doubt,
that was thoroughly enjoyed by the principal actor. As for Conway
Dalrymple, he was so second-rate a personage in the whole thing, that
it mattered little whether he enjoyed it or not. I don't think he did
enjoy it. "And now, Conway," she said, "I will give you some advice.
And when in after-days you shall remember this interview, and reflect
how that advice was given you,--with what solemnity,"--here she
clasped both her hands together,--"I think that you will follow it.
Clara Van Siever will now become your wife."

"I do not know that at all," said Dalrymple.

"Clara Van Siever will now become your wife," repeated Mrs. Broughton
in a louder voice, impatient of opposition. "Love her. Cleave to her.
Make her flesh of your flesh and bone of your bone. But rule her!
Yes, rule her! Let her be your second self, but not your first self.
Rule her! Love her. Cleave to her. Do not leave her alone, to feed on
her own thoughts as I have done,--as I have been forced to do. Now
go. No, Conway, not a word; I will not hear a word. You must go, or
I must." Then she rose quickly from her lowly attitude, and prepared
herself for a dart at the door. It was better by far that he should
go, and so he went.

An American when he has spent a pleasant day will tell you that he
has had "a good time". I think that Mrs. Dobbs Broughton, if she
had ever spoken the truth of that day's employment, would have
acknowledged that she had had "a good time". I think that she enjoyed
her morning's work. But as for Conway Dalrymple, I doubt whether he
did enjoy his morning's work. "A man may have too much of this sort
of thing, and then he becomes very sick of his cake." Such was the
nature of his thoughts as he returned to his own abode.

CHAPTER LII

Why Don't You Have an "It"