“I beg your pardon,” said Varley, after a moment.
“On our wedding-day,” continued Trafford, speaking very slowly, and as if he were communing with himself, rather than addressing Varley, “I made a discovery. I discovered that I loved her—loved her as passionately and truly as any man ever loved since the world began.”
Varley raised his eyes for a moment and carefully lighted his cigarette.
“I would have married her if she had been penniless. I looked forward to laying a life of devotion at her feet. There had been one woman”—he hesitated a scarcely perceptible second—“whom I would have put in Esmeralda’s place—I tell you this because I have resolved to conceal nothing from you—but my love for Esmeralda had erased, destroyed, any feeling I may have had for any other woman. I loved her with all my heart. But it was too late!” He sunk on to the table and continued, with his head averted from Varley’s piercing eyes: “She had discovered, by a conversation which she had overheard, that I had married her for her money. Her pure soul rose in revolt. She refused to believe that I had grown to love her. My punishment began; we virtually parted on our wedding-day.”
Varley looked at him, but said nothing.
“It was a punishment more terrible than you can imagine. We were husband and wife in name only, living under the same roof as strangers—worse than strangers. We went to Belfayre, and there Norman Druce was awaiting us. He and Esmeralda had met here. I knew nothing of it, did not know that he loved her, and that he had ever asked her to be his wife; though I might have suspected something from the confusion which they displayed when I took him to her on my wedding-morning.”
Varley flung his cigarette away and turned with flashing eyes.
“You accuse Esmeralda—” he began.
“Hear me out!” said Trafford. “Norman and Esmeralda were with us at Belfayre. She and I were separated; he loved her still; it was only natural that he, they, should be tempted. I see, now, how much excuse there was for her—yes, and for him.”
As he spoke, a shadow darkened the door-way, and a man stood in the entrance. It was Norman. He stopped at sight of the two men, and would have turned away, but Varley, with a gesture which Trafford, sitting with bowed head, did not see, signed to Norman to remain. Trafford sighed heavily.