"And if I help you—if I consent—what shape is my assistance to take?"
"I leave that to you," he said. "I can answer for her, for Stella Etheridge—that is her name."
"I do not wish to mention names," she said, coldly.
"Quite right," he said. "Trees have ears, as you and I have just proved."
She shuddered at the familiar, confident tone in his voice.
"I will not mention names," he repeated, "let us say 'him' and 'her.' Candidly—and between us, my lady, there should be nothing but candor—I have sworn that nothing shall come of this betrothal. I love her, and—I—hate him."
She looked at him. His face was deadly white, and his eyes gleamed, but a smile still played about his lips.
"You," he continued, "hate her, and—love—him."
Lady Lenore started, and a crimson flush of shame stained her fair face.
"How dare you!" she exclaimed.