“And something more,” he pleaded passionately. “Tell me that you love me like that.”
Belle slowly, gently shook her head.
“No. Why do you make it so hard for me? Leave me, I entreat you.”
Hammond turned faint.
“You do not love me, then?” he gasped.
She gave him a despairing look, and answered passionately:
“No! I don’t love you—I don’t love you!”
He rose up, without another word, and went away from her. The next instant, as the door closed behind him, Belle sank down on the seat, like a flower whose stem is broken, and the tears began to come like rain.
A door at the far end of the conservatory softly opened, and a man stepped through and came towards her, with his finger on his lips.
It was the Marquis of Severn.