"No, Sir Henry, no. False to him I have been; false to my own sex; false, very false to my own inner self; but never false to you."
"Madam, you have forgotten my honour."
"I have at any rate been able to remember my own."
They were now standing face to face; and as she said these last words, it struck Sir Henry that it might be well to take them as a sign of grace, and to commence from them that half-forgiveness which would be necessary to his projects.
"You have forgotten yourself, Caroline—"
"Stop a moment, Sir Henry, and let me finish, since you will not allow me to remain silent. I have never been false to you, I say; and, by God's help, I never will be—"
"Well, well."
"Stop, sir, and let me speak. I have told you often that I did not love you. I tell you so now again. I have never loved you—never shall love you. You have called me now by a base name; and in that I have lived with you and have not loved you, I dare not say that you have called me falsely. But I will sin no more."
"What is it you mean?"
"I will not deserve the name again—even from you."