His stern words produced such an effect upon Trafford, that even Varley could have found it in his heart to pity him.
“Do you know the whole story?” asked Trafford, when he could speak. “Has Norman told you?”
“No,” said Varley; “he has told me nothing. I wish to hear nothing.”
“You must hear it,” said Trafford.
Varley pointed to the hut near which they were standing, and Trafford followed him in. The two men stood facing each other, Trafford with his back to the door.
“It is right that you should hear the truth. You may think worse of me than you do already. It is of little consequence, though. Mr. Howard, I value your good opinion more than you can imagine and can believe. You accuse me of marrying Esmeralda for her money.” His face flushed as if with shame. “I plead guilty. I and mine were in terrible straits; I was tempted, and I fell. As you have said, I married Esmeralda for the wealth which she possessed, the money which could save my house from ruin.”
Varley rolled a cigarette, his pale face set with a kind of impatient contempt.
“And you are what is called a nobleman!” he said.
“I deserve that,” said Trafford, quietly. “But there is nothing that you can say which can be more bitter than that which I have already said to myself.”