"From the first! She is as pure and high-minded as—as an angel, but you had made up your mind that she was a mercenary schemer, and not even the being with her, and knowing her, and seeing her every day, disabused your mind and opened your eyes to the wrong you were doing her! Yes, you were against her from the first. You'd made your mind up. That ridiculous idea of yours that all women are greedy and hungry for wealth and a title has become a monomania with you, and your mind has got as twisted as your body!"
He stopped aghast and breathless. The words—the cruel words—had slipped out on the torrent of his indignation before be scarcely knew or realized their cruel significance.
The duke sank back, and put his hand to his eyes, as if Yorke had dealt him a physical blow.
Yorke hung his head.
"Forgive me, Dolph," he said in a low voice. "I—I did not mean——."
The duke dropped his hands from before his face.
"Let that pass," he said in a low voice. "You did not mean it. It is the first unkind word you have ever——. But no matter! You say that I was prejudiced, that I wronged her. Yorke, you have forced my hand, and to show you that you have wronged me, I must tell you all. Yorke——," he paused, and his eyes dropped, then he raised them, and looked steadily into Yorke's—"I loved her!"
Yorke started.
"You!"
The duke plucked at the sable rug for a moment to silence, then he went on—