“Are you, then, the great musician?” she said, hard scorn in her tone, “since it was you alone I sought to escape from, and—and for ever.”
“From me?”—a grieved amazement marked his voice—“after what hath passed between us?”
She stood back, peremptorily signing him on with her hand.
“Passed? Are you again in error? Proceed, sir—’tis but a little distance—and find her, the brazen partner of your guilt, for whom you have already once mistaken me.”
He cried out: “You are mad! How could I ever mistake you? Were we not listening together but now to the harpist, when you turned and ran?”
“I ran? I have heard no harpist. It was from your lying importunities I escaped.”
“My lying—before God I spoke my very heart. And you were kind, cousin.”
“Cousin!”
“Am I not your cousin, though your lover?”
“George Hamilton!”