The tears were swelling in her eyes again; few men could have resisted the look of those eyes, the sweet pleading of her voice—for the contrast with her usual imperious pride had something very touching in it.
"You were very beautiful then," he said—"very beautiful."
"And am I so much changed?" she answered, with a smile of gentle sweetness.
In his secret heart he thought the splendid creature handsomer than ever. If the freshness of youth was gone, there was grace, maturity, intellect, everything requisite to the perfection of womanhood, in exchange for the one lost attraction.
It was a part of Leicester's policy to please her until he had mastered all the facts of her position; so he spoke for once sincerely, and in the rich tones that he knew so well how to modulate, he told how superbly her beauty had ripened with time. She blushed like a girl. He could feel even that her hand was glowing with the exquisite pleasure given by his praise. But he had a point to gain—all her loveliness was nothing to him, unless it could be made subservient to his interest. What was her present condition?—had she obtained wealth abroad?—or could she insanely fancy that he would receive her penniless? This was the point that he wished to arrive at, but so far she had evaded it as if unconsciously.
He looked around the room, hoping to draw some conclusion by the objects it contained. The scrutiny was followed by a faint start of surprise; the hard carpet, the bureau, the bed, all were familiar. They had been the little "setting out" that his wife had received from her parents in New England. How came they there, so well kept, so neatly arranged in that high chamber! Was she a governess in some wealthy household, furnishing her own room with the humble articles that had once been their own household goods? He glanced at her dress. It was simple and entirely without ornament; this only strengthened the conclusion to which he was fast arriving. He remembered the marble vestibule through which they had reached the staircase, the caution used in admitting him to the house. The hackney-coach, everything gave proof that she would be an incumbrance to him. She saw that he was regarding the patch-work quilt that covered the bed; the tears began to fall from her eyes.
"Do you remember, William, we used it first when our darling was a baby? Have you ever seen her since—since?"
He dropped her hand and stood up. His whole manner changed.
"Do not mention her, wretched, unnatural mother—is she not impoverished, abandoned? Can you make atonement for this?"
"No, no, I never hoped it—I feel keenly as you can how impossible it is. Oh, that I had the power!"