“I have done nothing,” he said, almost harshly, trying to hide his agitation.
“It is all so new and strange,” murmured the girl, putting one hand to her throat and speaking as if to herself. “How often we have discussed the story of my mother, yet how far we were from the truth! And we were cousins all the time.”
“What use is there in recalling the past?” asked the young man, hoarsely. “It can bring nothing but pain.”
Margery looked up at his pale, drawn face.
“Pain?” she repeated, slowly. “I wonder if you know what pain I have suffered!”
She spoke unconsciously, urged by the memory of all her sorrow, her girlish despair and her humiliation.
“What should give you pain?” cried Stuart, harshly, folding his arms in his agitation. “You have riches, title; you can do as you will; you are Lady Court.”
The bitterness of his voice went to her very heart.
“How cruel you are!” she murmured, her head dropping upon her breast.
“Cruel?” he repeated, moving to her side, mad with the intoxication of his love and the remembrance of her deceit. “Were you not cruel when you coquetted with me, led me on, lied to me, and then deceived me?”