Is it not my Aunt Jessica's design
melodramatically to abduct me in a yacht?
"Once aboard the pirate lugger, and the man is ours!" she cries.
But the man is not coming aboard the pirate lugger. He is going
to keep as far as he possibly can from the shore. Neither is he
to be lured into bringing his lovely Mohammedan ward with him, as
an evidence of good faith and unimpeachable morals. They can
regard her as a Mohammedan ward or a houri or a Princess of
Babylon, just as they choose.
Pasquale must be right. A hundred remembered incidents go to
prove it. I recollect now that Judith has rallied me on my
obtuseness.
The sole end of all my Aunt Jessica's manoeuvring is to marry me
to Dora, and Dora, like Barkis, is willing. Marry Dora! The
thought is a febrifuge, a sudorific! She would be thumping
discords on my wornout strings all day long. In a month I should
be a writhing madman. I would sooner, infinitely sooner, marry
Carlotta. Carlotta is nature; Dora isn't even art. Why, in the
name of men and angels, should I marry Dora? And why (save to
call herself Lady Ordeyne) should she want to marry me? I have
not trifled with her virgin affections; and that she is
nourishing a romantic passion for me of spontaneous growth I
decline to believe.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195