"Why treat your faithful lover so harshly, sweet Prue?" he went on passionately. "Have I not proven my love again and again in the defense of your reputation and in unquestioning submission to your caprices? Have I not endured your coldness and yielded my just claims before the scruple that prompted you to deny your future husband the smallest favor, while the phantom of a vow linked you to a felon? And am I to have no reward, not even enough of your confidence to enable me to give the lie to your traducers?" "My traducers!" she cried impatiently. "Who are they? At present the only person who has dared to cast a doubt on my veracity is—Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert!" "And how long do you expect to escape the pack of ’damned good-natured friends’ who have been accustomed to feed upon the choice morsels of scandal you have liberally provided for them?" he demanded. "Before to-night every gossip in town will be in possession of the story of your adventures, and each one who recounts it will put his own construction upon it." "’Tis true," she murmured. "I have often assisted at such feasts of reason. They are highly entertaining, and every one is eager to add a dash of spice or vinegar to the witches’ broth. And there is nothing I can do to stop those busybodies." She glanced resentfully at Sir Geoffrey, yet there was inquiry in her eye. "Certainly there is something," he replied, answering the unspoken question. "You can give them something else to talk about that will throw the escapade of the necklace into the shade. The shade, do I say? Rather into utter oblivion." An ironical smile began to dawn upon her face, but he did not leave her time to speak. "You can give them a wedding to talk about, a subject that eclipses every other; if you prefer it, an elopement; indeed, I think that would be more dramatic. Say but the word, dearest, and in an hour, a post-chaise—" "Oh! Sir Geoffrey," she exclaimed, bursting into a hearty laugh. "Can you really seriously propose such an absurdity to _me_? An elopement? a post-chaise? Methinks I should be like a man who jumps into a river to avoid being wetted by a passing shower! We should indeed give the town something to talk about; and not only talk, but laugh at." "Let them laugh," said Sir Geoffrey doggedly. "So can I; and he laughs longest who laughs last." "With me for the butt of your hilarity? Thanks, I am always pleased to have my friends—and my enemies—laugh _with_ me, but to have them all laughing _at_ me is scarcely to my taste. Besides, for you, Sir Geoffrey, to suggest such a thing to me—you who know that I am already another man’s wife and can not therefore legally become yours—for you to make such an offer is an insult—no less."