d it languid, and when he
had rubbed his hands, stared, and by sundry sharp utterances brought her
to his feet, his satisfaction was less poignant than he had expected. As
a consequence, instead of speaking outrageously, according to his habit,
in wrath, he was now frigidly considerate, informing Emilia that it
would be good for her if she were dead, seeing that she was of no use
whatever; but, as she was alive, she had better go to her father and
mother, and learn knitting, or some such industrial employment. "Unless
zat man for whom you play fool!--" Mr. Pericles shrugged the rest of his
meaning.

"But my voice may not be gone," urged Emilia. "I may sing to you
to-morrow--this evening. It must be the fog. Why do you think it lost?
It can't be--"

"Cracked!" cried Mr. Pericles.

"It is not! No; do not think it. I may stay here. Don't tell me to go
yet. The streets make me wish to die. And I feel I may, perhaps, sing
presently. Wait. Will you wait?"

A hideous imitation of her lamentable tones burst from Mr. Pericles.
"Cracked!" he cried again.

Emilia lifted her eyes, and looked at him steadily. She saw the idea
grow in the eyes fronting her that she had a pleasant face, and she at
once staked this little bit of newly-conceived worth on an immediate
chance. Remember; that she was as near despair as a creature constituted
so healthily could go. Speaking no longer in a girlish style, but with
the grave pleading manner of a woman, she begged Mr. Pericles to take
her to Italy, and have faith in the recovery of her voice. He, however,
far from being softened, as he grew aware of her sweetness of feature,
waxed violent and insulting.

"Take me," she said. "My voice will reward you. I feel that you can cure
it."

"For zat man! to go to him again!" Mr. Pericles sneered.

"I never shall do that." There sprang a glitter as of steel in Emilia's
eyes. "I will make myself yours for life, if you like. Take my hand, and
let me swear. I do not break my word. I will swear, that if I recover
my voice to become what you expected,--I will marry you whenever you ask
me, and then--"

More she was saying, but Mr. Pericles, sputtering a laugh of "Sanks!"
presented a postured supplication for silence.

"I am not a man who marries."

He plainly stated the relations that the woman whom he had distinguished
by the honours of selection must hold toward him.

Emilia's cheeks did not redden; but, without any notion of shame at the
w