I did it. I knew that no
good could come of it. He wouldn't lift his hand to do anything for
me."

"How horrid that is!"

"He thinks it a shame that I should have my uncle's money, though he
never had any more right to it than that man out there. He is always
saying that I am better off than he is."

"I suppose you are."

"I am very badly off, I know that. People seem to think that L800 is
ever so much, but I find it to be very little."

"And it will be much less if you are married," said Adelaide gravely.

"Of course, everything must be changed. I must sell my horses, and we
must cut and run, and go and live at Boulogne, I suppose. But a man
can't do that kind of thing all in a moment. Then Chiltern comes and
talks as though he were Virtue personified. What business is it of
his?"

Then Adelaide became still more grave. She had now removed herself
from his embrace, and was standing a little apart from him on the
rug. She did not answer him at first; and when she did so, she spoke
very slowly. "We have been rash, I fear; and have done what we have
done without sufficient thought."

"I don't say that at all."

"But I do. It does seem now that we have been imprudent." Then she
smiled as she completed her speech. "There had better be no
engagement between us."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it is quite clear that it his been a trouble to you rather
than a happiness."

"I wouldn't give it up for all the world."

"But it will be better. I had not thought about it as I should have
done. I did not understand that the prospect of marrying would make
you--so very poor. I see it now. You had better tell Lord Chiltern
that it is--done with, and I will tell her the same. It will be
better; and I will go back to Italy at once."

"Certainly not. It is not done with, and it shall not be done with."

"Do you think I will marry the man I love when he tells me that
by--marrying--me, he will be--banished to--Boulogne? You had better
see Lord Chiltern; indeed you had." And then she walked out of the
room.

Then came upon him at once a feeling that he had behaved badly; and
yet he had been so generous, so full of intentions to be devoted and
true! He had never for a moment thought of breaking off the match,
and would not think of it now. He loved her better than ever, and
would live only with the intention of making her his wife. But he
certainly should not have talked to her of his poverty, nor should he
have me