“You, at any rate, ought to be indulgent to a failing of this kind, Colonel Dacre, since you have lived a lie, so to speak, for a great many years.”
He uttered a sharp exclamation of surprise at such an extraordinary accusation.
“What do you mean?” he inquired at last. “You are surely dreaming, Lady Gwendolyn.”
“I wish I were!” and there was a ring of passionate regret in her voice. “If all the world had disappointed me, I would still have sworn that you were true, until—until the day before yesterday.”
“And then?”
“And then I knew the truth.”
“What truth? Upon my word and honor, I have not the least idea what you mean?”
“Come, Colonel Dacre, is it worth while to deny anything to me? I do not accuse you, remember; I have no right; I simply state a fact. It is a pity you sought the meeting I would have avoided, for it must needs humiliate you as it pains me.”
“There is nothing in my past that humiliates me in the smallest degree. I have had great sorrows, but they were not brought about by any fault of my own. I came here to seek you because I considered that you owed me an explanation, and I did not choose you should be able to say that I could not defend myself against your implied accusation. But what I saw last night has altered my feeling in the matter, and if I sought you this morning it was only because I am a miserable, weak stupid, and wanted to see your face once more before we parted, never to meet again, I trust, on this side of the grave.”
Lady Gwendolyn had turned very pale, but her pride sustained her still, for the stately head never lowered itself one inch, and her full under lip curled in a disdainful smile.