"
That significant phrase about his not having acquired the right was
almost a challenge. And why should he not say, "Well, give me the
right!" What did it matter? It was of little concern what happened to
him. As he lay back in his chair and looked at her, he guessed what she
would do. He imagined the pretty little performance. "Well, give me the
right, then!" Miss Burgoyne turns round from the mirror. "Lionel, what
do you mean?"
"You know what I mean: let us be engaged lovers off the stage as well as
on." She hangs down her head. He goes to her and kisses her--without any
mistletoe; she murmurs some doubt and hesitation, in her maiden shyness;
he laughingly reassures her; it is all over, in half a dozen seconds.
And then? Why, then he has secured for himself a sufficiently
good-natured life-companion; it will be convenient in many ways,
especially when they are engaged at the same theatre; he will marry in
his own sphere, and everybody be satisfied. If he has to give up his
bachelor ways and habits, she will probably look after a little
establishment as well as another; where there is no frantic passion on
either side, there will be no frantic jealousy; and, after all, what is
better than peace and quiet and content?
Was he too indolent, then, to accept this future that seemed to be
offered to him?
"Isn't it rather odd to go to a Brighton hotel for Christmas?" he said,
at random.
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