Too Long; Didn't Read

"Have you been thinking any more about it?" Lord Nidderdale said to the girl as soon as Madame Melmotte had succeeded in leaving them alone together. "I have thought ever so much more about it," said Marie. "And what's the result?" "Oh,—I'll have you." "That's right," said Nidderdale, throwing himself on the sofa close to her, so that he might put his arm round her waist. "Wait a moment, Lord Nidderdale," she said. "You might as well call me John." "Then wait a moment,—John. You think you might as well marry me, though you don't love me a bit." "That's not true, Marie." "Yes it is;—it's quite true. And I think just the same,—that I might as well marry you, though I don't love you a bit." "But you will." "I don't know. I don't feel like it just at present. You had better know the exact truth, you know. I have told my father that I did not think you'd ever come again, but that if you did I would accept you. But I'm not going to tell any stories about it. You know who I've been in love with." "But you can't be in love with him now."