"She loathes me. And I would be burnt to death for her to-morrow."
She started at something in his tone—something she had not heard for years.
"Can't you get over it?"
"No."
"Then——"
"Oh, my God, Tony, I don't know. Can't—can't you help me?"
"I!"
"Yes. She can't love that boy; he is utterly insignificant. She's marrying him for his money."
"No. She likes him. But, of course, the money helped. But she wouldn't marry you if you were a millionaire yourself. She loathes you. Always has."
"I am going mad, I think. I haven't slept for months. Look at my hand, how it shakes; anyone would think I was a drunkard! Look here, Tony, couldn't you ask her to speak civilly to me, at least?"