"My good Bernard," she replied, "in the world in which I live one does
not kiss even a sister, and nowhere does one kiss in secret. I will kiss
you every day before my father, if you like; but never here."

"You will never kiss me!" I cried, relapsing into my usual passion.
"What of your promise? What of my rights?"

"If we marry," she said, in an embarrassed tone, "when you have received
the education I implore you to receive, . . ."

"Death of my life! Is this a jest? Is there any question of marriage
between us? None at all. I don't want your fortune, as I have told you."

"My fortune and yours are one," she replied. "Bernard, between near
relations as we are, mine and thine are words without meaning. I should
never suspect you of being mercenary. I know that you love me, that you
will work to give me proof of this, and that a day will come when your
love will no longer make me fear, because I shall be able to accept it
in the face of heaven and earth."

"If that is your idea," I replied, completely drawn away from my wild
passion by the new turn she was giving to my thoughts, "my position is
very different; but, to tell you the truth, I must reflect on this; I
had not realized that this was your meaning."

"And how should I have meant otherwise?" she answered. "Is not a woman
dishonoured by giving herself to a man who is not her husband? I do not
wish to dishonour myself; and, since you love me, you would not wish
it either. You would not do me an irreparable wrong. If such were your
intention you would be my deadliest enemy."