The woman bore her triumph with caution, and would not seem elated. She sank to his side on one knee, forcing him to support her head with his hand, which yielded to the guidance of her soft touch, as the stern heart had given way to her caressing speech.
"You have been very harsh with me," was her sweet reproach; "and all because I cannot be happy when you will not trust me."
"Trust you?"
"Yes; you keep secrets from me. You are jealous because other men admire me."
"No, Ellen; I am jealous because you have no value for my admiration, not because others think you beautiful."
"But you keep secrets from me."
"What secrets?" he faltered.
"Oh, a great many."
She dared not come to the point at once for his face was growing dark again.
She watched his face keenly—it lowered like a thunder cloud. That pretence of jealousy was only a decoy subject—she cared nothing for his early love, but was painfully intent on gaining his secret of the treasures. Without that knowledge she must be forever at his mercy—always going through scenes like the one which had just passed, or sink back into comparative poverty by abandoning him altogether. The partial independence which he had bestowed only made her more eager for new concessions.