wly born, unfit to be your wife?"
"My darling girl, what can it matter what he thinks? A ridiculous headstrong old man in one scale, and----"
"But it does matter. I want to convince him that I am not--not--what he believes me to be."
"Then come over to England and see him."
"No--never! I shall never go to England. I shall stay in Ireland always. My own land; the land whose people he detests because he knows nothing about them. It was one of his chief objections to your marriage with me, that I was an Irish girl!"
She stops short, as though her wrath and indignation and contempt is too much for her.
"Barbara," says Monkton, very gently, but with a certain reproach, "do you know you almost make me think that you regret our marriage."
"No, I don't," quickly. "If I talked for ever I shouldn't be able to make you think that. But----" She turns to him suddenly, and gazes at him through large eyes that are heavy with tears. "I shall always be sorry f
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