'Why are you so curious continually?' said Manston.
'Because I am a woman and want to know. Now where is she?' 'In the Flying Isle of San Borandan.' 'Witty cruelty is the cruellest of any. Ah, well--if she is in England, she will come back.' 'She is not in England.' 'But she will come back?' 'No, she won't. . . . Come, madam,' he said, arousing himself, 'I shall not answer any more questions.' 'Ah--ah--ah--she is not dead,' the woman murmured again poutingly.
'She is, I tell you.' 'I don't think so, love.' 'She was burnt, I tell you!' he exclaimed.
'Now to please me, admit the bare possibility of her being alive --just the possibility.' 'O yes--to please you I will admit that,' he said quickly. 'Yes, I admit the possibility of her being alive, to please you.' She looked at him in utter perplexity. The words could only have been said in jest, and yet they seemed to savour of a tone the furthest remove from jesting. There was his face plain to her eyes, but no information of any kind was to be read there.
'It is only natural that I should be curious,' she murmured pettishly, 'if I resemble her as much as you say I do.' 'You are handsomer,' he said, 'though you are about her own height and size. But don't worry yourself. You must know that you are body and soul united with me, though you are but my housekeeper.' She bridled a little at the remark. 'Wife,' she said, 'most certainly wife, since you cannot dismiss me without losing your character and position, and incurring heavy penalties.' 'I own it--it was well said, though mistakenly--very mistakenly.' 'Don't riddle to me about mistakenly and such dark things. Now what was your motive, dearest, in running the risk of having me here?' 'Your beauty,' he said.
'She thanks you much for the compliment, but will not take it.
Come, what was your motive?' 'Your wit.' 'No, no; not my wit. Wit would have made a wife of me by this time instead of what I am.' 'Your virtue.' 'Or virtue either.' 'I tell you it was your beauty--really.' 'But I cannot help seeing and hearing, and if what people say is true, I am not nearly so good-looking as Cytherea, and several years older.' The aspect of Manston's face at these words from her was so confirmatory of her hint, that his forced reply of 'O no,' tended to develop her chagrin.