Aye, it is all very well to say: "You are an honest lad." But if a gentleman has behind him long generations of gentlemen, each of whom has planned his life upon the conventional code of honour among gentlemen, he cannot easily bring his lips to form the words that will betray a woman in relation to himself—least of all, perhaps, where he has been loved and has not loved in return.
So his lips were silent upon that smile of scorn. And Sidonia's last hope—how strong it had been, how dear, she never knew till this moment—agonized within her. That he should mock her for jealousy: that was the supreme insult.
As in a flash of unbearable illumination she saw herself in his eyes, heavy-lidded, unkempt; saw the figure that had provoked just now even Betty's pity; saw beside her, Betty, rich in loveliness, velvet clad ... it was no wonder that Beau Cousin Kielmansegg should fix her with this smile, this contempt.
And Steven, in his morgue, who would have perished rather than condescend to explain—could he but have known (Ah, if youth but knew!) that no explanation was really needed of him, that no words are ever needed in the great crises of life! Words are our enemies. The inability to express the subtleties of wounded feeling, the false witness that our tongues bear against us, have divided more lovers secretly yearning for each other than ever did most adverse circumstances. One touch of his hand on hers, one kiss upon her lips, and Sidonia would have felt the truth, would have understood that he loved her, and that, to him who loves, the beloved is queen. Angry Steven, Steven the lover, had never even noticed the dishevelment of her bright hair. Her face was pale?—it was a pearl in his eyes. Her attire was shabby?—it might have been a garment of state. Had Betty broken in on them then, in all her glory, he would have drawn no comparison, save to the superlative advantage of the woman who was his choice.
Alas! if youth but knew!
From the bowling green without came a gust of laughter; then a light voice broke into a stave of popular song. They had, in happier moments, heard that lilt upon the fiddle of wandering Hans; it struck them poignantly. Wounded love flamed into intemperate resentment.
"After all, Aunt Betty but told me the truth, if a little late—you have nothing to say," said Sidonia, between teeth clenched upon a sob.
"Only this," replied Steven, arrogantly, from the height of his disdain, "that I command you, as your husband, to come with me now."
Sidonia pointed to the door.
"Herr Graf von Kielmansegg, my uncle expects to hear from the judges to-day anent the annulment of that ill-considered ceremony which made me nominally your wife. His lawyers will call upon you in due course."