“I was not glad that evening,” she said.
He raised his head and listened.
“I submitted, Cordt, but I was not glad to. I was acting a part, for your sake.”
She met his eyes. Hers were still and sad and she did not remove them while she spoke:
“I was wicked, Cordt. I hated you. I told you a lie. I was dancing at the ball, hour after hour, while I sat and held your hand and laughed so gaily.”
She slipped from her chair and crouched before him, with her hands folded round his knee and her eyes fixed humbly on his face:
“Do not look at me so strangely, Cordt. That is how I am. I love you. But I cannot live without the others ... without having them to see it, to see my happiness. I want to be pretty and I want them to fall in love with me and I want to belong to you. I only care to be pretty if I am loved. Don’t look like that, Cordt.”
She clung to him with eyes of entreaty.
“I am not really wicked, Cordt ... am I? I was with our little baby day and night when he was ill ... wasn’t I, Cordt?”
“Yes,” he said.