“Go on; you can say nothing to me that I have not said already to myself. I have been a brute, a fool; I know it. I did give him the lie once, but his words rankled in my mind, and I could not rest till I had had the charge disproved.”
“If you are satisfied, go.”
Hammond started and shivered. He had not heard that tone before; he had not seen that deeply resolute expression, in which Belle’s face was set like stone.
“Oh, not like this! You will forgive me, Belle? You must! This lie has tortured me far worse than you.”
He might have made the excuse that he had only repeated the slander for her sake, and not for the satisfaction of his own doubts. But he scorned to stoop to subterfuge with her.
“Why should I? Your good opinion or your friendship are nothing to me any longer.”
“My good opinion—friendship! Ah, it is more than that! You know, you must know, that I have loved you all the time!”
“So much the worse. For you to speak of love to me is only another insult.”
“I did not mean to insult you,” was the humble answer. “I meant to offer you the love that a man offers to his betrothed.”
“Does a man cast suspicions on his betrothed?”