She turned white to the lips; he, too, was pale and cold.
“Better that than see my name dishonored. Mother—mother, do not leave us!”
Mrs. La Clide seemed frightened. There was something strangely wild in her eyes. This scene was becoming too painful for her. She looked imploringly on her son.
“Yes, I must go; the air of this room is close. Do not be unkind, my son. Ellen, remember how we have loved you!”
The young girl turned upon her almost insolently. Her lips curved into a sneer, but she restrained her speech, and Mrs. La Clide left the room. Claude was softened by his mother’s words. He followed her with loving glances from the room, then turned more gently to his betrothed.
“Ellen, dear Ellen, I do not wish to be unkind. You know well how I have loved you. Your wish has always been my law, but I can not surrender my self-respect.”
“Nor can I.”
“Ellen, I beg—beseech you to listen to me.”
“I do listen, sir.”
The rapid beat of her foot on the carpet, the firm clinch of her hands, the compressed lip and suppressed breath, told in unmistakable language with what spirit she listened.