I might have spared myself all the trouble of thinking and deciding.  One morning Mrs. Newsham, a pretty young matron, very popular in our neighborhood, paid us a visit.

Coralie, as usual, received her, and did the honors of the house.  A very beautiful fountain had just been placed in the lawn, and we went to look at it.  I had left the two ladies looking over the basin of the fountain while I raised the branches of a rare and valuable plant.

Stooping down, I did not hear the commencement of the conversation.  When my attention was attracted, Mrs. Newsham was concluding a sentence with these words:  “If ever you leave Crown Anstey.”

I saw Coralie d’Aubergne look up at her with a quiet smile.

“I shall never leave Crown Anstey,” she said, “under any possible circumstances.”

Mrs. Newsham laughed.

“You may be married, or Lady Trevelyan may not like the place and wish it closed—­a thousand things may happen to prevent you remaining here always.”

But I saw Coralie d’Aubergne shake her head, while she replied, calmly: 

“No, Mrs. Newsham, I shall never leave Crown Anstey.”

I cannot tell how the words impressed me.  I found myself repeating them over and over again—­“I shall never leave Crown Anstey.”

Yet she must have known that when my young wife came home, Crown Anstey would be no place for her.

Was there any meaning in the words she repeated so often, or did she say them merely with an idea of comforting herself?

It was that very evening that I sat by myself in the library arranging some papers, and thinking at the same time what I must say to Coralie, and how I must say it, when the door suddenly opened and she entered.

I looked at her, surprised, for she did not often intrude when I was alone and occupied.  She was very pale.  With quiet determination on her beautiful face, she walked up to me and leaned her arm on the back of my chair.

“So, cousin,” she said, “this marriage is going on?”

“Certainly, Coralie.  I pray to God nothing may prevent it.”

“You would lose your reason, I suppose, if you lost Agatha?”

“I cannot tell.  I only know that, no matter how long I lived, life would have no further charm for me.”

She bent her head caressingly over me; her perfumed hair touched my face.

“Edgar,” she whispered, “once more I lose sight of my woman’s pride; once more I come to you and ask you—­ah! do not turn from me—­I ask you to give up Agatha, and”—­

She paused, for very shame, I hope.

“Give up Agatha and marry you, you would say, Coralie?”

“Ah, dear, I love you so!  You would never repent it.  I would make you happy as a crowned king.”

I stopped her.

“Say no more, Coralie!  I am grieved and shocked that you should renew the subject.  I told you before I should never love any woman, save Agatha Thesiger, were I to live forever.”