"You love this woman yet, I see."
General Harrington's voice had resumed its usual slow intonation. The first anger had left it with a harsh, cold attempt at composure; his eyes moved from object to object, and his soft white fingers worked nervously with the tassel of his dressing-gown: if at any moment of his life this old man could have been awkward, it must have been then, for he was too keen-sighted not to feel his own meanness, but not honest enough to crush it beneath his feet.
James Harrington dashed the hands away from his pale face, and sat upright.
"Ask me that, or anything else that appertains only to my own feelings, and I will answer. I did love the woman you married with every power of my soul!"
"And now?"
"Now, sir, and from the day she took your name, she has been sacred to my thoughts, as an angel in Heaven."
General Harrington smiled incredulously.
"I have answered the simple truth, sir," said James, in reply to the smile.
Instead of being pleased with the honest simplicity of this answer, the old man looked disappointed; his brow clouded, and his eye fell.