"No," she replied, "I cannot."
"It is true. Fair, bright, frivolous women like you cannot realize a man's love—they cannot even estimate it! And strange—oh! strange to say—women like you win strong, passionate love, for which the pure and noble of your sex seek in vain."
Alas! that she had given him the right to speak thus to her—that she had placed herself in the power of such a man! Oh! fatal, foolish, and wicked sin! Yet true to herself, true to her own light, frivolous nature, it was not the bitter sin she repented so much as its discovery.
He drew nearer to her, and placed one hand on her arm.
"Do you know, Doris," he said, "that when you left me I had begun, even then, to love you with such a passionate love that every pulse of my heart was wrapped up in it."
She shook his hand from her as though there were contamination in his touch.
"I did not know it. I do not believe it. You never loved me—you have loved nothing on earth one half so dearly as you have loved yourself!"
His face grew dark with anger.
"Remembering how entirely you are in my power," he said, "I ask you, is it wise to anger me?"
"You never loved me," she repeated; "Earle loved me, and would have died any day to save my fair name! You never loved me, you loved yourself!"