"You never will hate me." Returning and resuming his former position at my feet, he repeated more vehemently—"You cannot hate me, as long as I love you."
"But how can I believe that you love me, if you continue to act in this way? Just imagine yourself in my place: would you think I loved you, if I did so? Would you believe my protestations, and honour and trust me under such circumstances?"
"The cases are different," he replied. "It is a woman's nature to be constant—to love one and one only, blindly, tenderly, and for ever—bless them, dear creatures! and you above them all—but you must have some commiseration for us, Helen; you must give us a little more licence, for as Shakespere has it—
'However we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won
Than women's are.'"
"Do you mean by that, that your fancies are lost to me, and won by Lady Lowborough?"
