She was growing weary under the strain, and she leaned against the window, and for a moment let her head rest against it, but for a moment only.
“I suppose most girls would not mind. But I expect I’m different, having been brought up differently, and—and I can’t bear it.”
The words had a ring of anguish in them that found an echo in his heart and made him half turn to her. But her face, the look in her eyes, kept him back.
“I am married now, and—and it is too late; you can have the money—”
“My God! have some mercy, child!” broke from him, the sweat standing on his white brow.
“What mercy have you had on me?” she asked in a low voice. “Ah! why did you do it? Why did you not come to me and tell me what it was you wanted? You might have had the money—every penny of it!”
He wiped his face but said nothing.
“I would have given it to you gladly, gladly. For I—I—I cared for you!”
He turned to her with outstretched hand, but she did not move, nor did the steady regard of her sorrow-stricken eyes flinch or yield.