"Miss Etheridge," he said, slowly, and with intense earnestness, "I beg you to believe that the course which I have felt bound to adopt has been productive of as much pain and grief to me as it can possibly have been to you——"
Stella just moved her hand with scornful impatience.
"Your feelings are a matter of supreme indifference to me, Mr. Adelstone," she said, icily.
"I regret that, I regret it with pain that amounts to anguish," he said, and his lips quivered. "The sentiments of—of devotion and attachment which I entertain for you, are no secret to you——"
"I cannot hear this," she said, impatiently.
"And yet I must urge them," he said, "for I have to urge them as an excuse for the liberty—the unpardonable liberty as you at present deem it—which I have taken."
"It is unpardonable!" she echoed, with suppressed passion. "There is no excuse—absolutely none."
"And yet," he said, still quietly and insistently, "if my devotion were less ardent, my attachment less sincere and immovable, I should have allowed you to go on your way to ruin and disaster."
Stella started and looked at him indignantly.
He moved his hand, slightly deprecatory of her wrath.