Now, just
think for a moment what your friend Sylvie is losing! A devoted,
ardent and passionate lover who would spare no pains to make her
happy,--who would cherish her tenderly, and make her days a dream of
romance! I had planned in my mind such a charming boudoir for
Sylvie, all ivory and white satin,--flowers, and a soft warm light
falling through the windows,--imagine Sylvie, with that delicate
face of hers and white rose skin, a sylph clad in floating lace and
drapery, seen in a faint pink hue as of a late sunset! You are an
artist, mademoiselle, and you can picture the fairy-like effect! I
certainly am not ashamed to say that this exquisite vision occupies
my thoughts,--it is a suggestion of beauty and deliciousness in a
particularly ugly and irksome world,--but to ask such a dainty
creature as Sylvie to be my housekeeeper, and make up the
tradesmen's books, I could not,--it would be sheer insolence on my
part,--it would be like asking an angel just out of heaven to cut
off her wings and go downstairs and cook my dinner!"
"You please yourself and your own fanciful temperament by those
arguments," said Angela,--"but they are totally without principle.
Oh, why," and raising her eyes, she fixed them on him with an
earnest look, "Why will you not understand? Sylvie is good and
pure,--why would you persuade her to be otherwise?"
Fontenelle rose and took one or two turns up and down the room
before replying.
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