to share all your responsibilities.  But I must feel that you will never misjudge me,—­never set me down on the level of mean and small-natured women, who cannot sacrifice themselves or their personal vanities for another’s sake.  It is not for me to say that the calumnies circulated concerning me are untrue,—­it is for my life to show and prove they are not!  But I must be trusted—­not suspected; and if you give me your life as you say, I will give mine to help make yours happier, asking from you in return just your faith—­your faith as well as your love!”

Like a fair queen she stood, royal in her look, bearing and attitude, and Aubrey bent his head low in reverence before her as he once more kissed her hand.

“My wife!” he said simply.

And the silence that followed was as that of God’s benediction on that perfect marriage which is scarcely ever consummated in all the world,—­the marriage of two souls, which like twin flames, unite and burn upward clear to Heaven, as One.

XXVII.

Society soon learned the news of the Countess Hermenstein’s betrothal to the “eccentric Englishman,” Aubrey Leigh,—­and with its million tongues discussed the affair in all tones,—­most people preferring to say, with the usual “society” kindness, that—­“Leigh was not quite such a self-sacrificing idealist as he seemed to be,—­ he was going to marry for money.”  Some few ventured to remark that Sylvie Hermenstein was charming in herself and well worth winning,—­ but the more practical pooh-poohed this view of the case at once.  “Pretty women are to be had by the score,” they said, “It is the money that tells!” Aubrey Leigh caught these rumours, and was in a manner stung by them,—­he said very little however, and to all the congratulations he received, merely gave coldly civil thanks.  And so the gossips went to work again in their own peculiar way, and said, “Well!  She will have an iceberg for a husband, that is one thing!  A stuck up, insolent sort of chap!—­not a bit of go in him!” Which was true,—­Aubrey had no “go.”  “Go” means, in modern parlance, to drink oneself stupid, to bet on the most trifling passing events, and to talk slang that would disgrace a stable-boy, as well as to amuse oneself with all sorts of mean and vulgar intrigues which are carried on through the veriest skulk and caddishness;—­thus Aubrey was a sad failure in “tip-top” circles.  But the “tip-top” circles are not a desirable heaven to every man;—­and Aubrey did not care much as to what sort of comments were passed on himself, provided he could see Sylvie always “queen it” over her inferiors in that graceful, gracious way of conquest which was her special peculiarity and charm.  Among her friends no one perhaps was happier in Sylvie’s happiness than Angela Sovrani; her nature was of that rare quality which vibrates like a harp to every touch, and the joy of others swept over her with a gladness which made her more glad than if she had received some priceless boon for her own benefit.  Florian Varillo was exceedingly angry at the whole affair,—­and whenever Sylvie’s betrothal was spoken of he assumed an expression of pained and personal offence which was almost grotesque.