"Were you lying when you told me that you did? What did you mean
when I was in your arms up in the house there? What did you intend
me to think that you meant?" Then she stopped, standing well in
front of him, and looking fixedly into his face.
This was the very thing that he had feared. Lord Augustus had been
a trouble. The Duke's letter had been a trouble. Lady Augustus had
been a trouble; and Sir George's sermons had been troublesome. But
what were they all when compared to this? How is it possible that a
man should tell a girl that he has not loved her, when he has
embraced her again and again? He may know it, and she may know
it;--and each may know that the other knows it;--but to say that he
does not and did not then love her is beyond the scope of his
audacity,--unless he be a heartless Nero. "No one can grieve about
this so much as I do," he said weakly.
"Cannot I grieve more, do you think,--I who told all my relatives
that I was to become your wife, and was justified in so telling
them? Was I not justified?"
"I think not."
"You think not! What did you mean then? What were you thinking of
when we were coming back in the carriage from Stamford,--when with
your arms round me you swore that you loved me better than all the
world? Is that true? Did you so swear?" What a question for a man
to have to answer! It was becoming clear to him that there was
nothing for him but to endure and be silent.
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