"None other, I swear by Heaven, none other has any claim on me!" cried
Dunwoodie, with fervor. "You alone are mistress of my inmost soul."
"You have practiced so much, and so successfully, Major Dunwoodie, that
it is no wonder you excel in deceiving the credulity of my sex,"
returned Frances, attempting a smile, which the tremulousness of her
muscles smothered at birth.
"Am I a villain, Miss Wharton, that you receive me with such language?
When have I ever deceived you, Frances? Who has practiced in this manner
on your purity of heart?"
"Why has not Major Dunwoodie honored the dwelling of his intended father
with his presence lately? Did he forget it contained one friend on a bed
of sickness, and another in deep distress? Has it escaped his memory
that it held his intended wife? Or is he fearful of meeting more than
one that can lay a claim to that title? Oh, Peyton--Peyton, how have I
been deceived in you! With the foolish credulity of my youth, I thought
you all that was brave, noble, generous, and loyal."
"Frances, I see how you have deceived yourself," cried Dunwoodie, his
face in a glow of fire. "You do me injustice; I swear by all that is
most dear to me, that you do me injustice."
"Swear not, Major Dunwoodie," interrupted Frances, her fine countenance
lighting with the luster of womanly pride.
Pages:
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358