She looked at me with a dazed face, as though she could barely grasp my meaning.
"Tell me it again," she said. "I cannot believe it."
"Listen, Coralie: I love Agatha Thesiger with all my heart, and hope very soon to make her my wife. I love her so dearly that I have no room in my heart for even a thought of any other woman."
Her face grew ghastly in its pallor.
"That is sufficient," she said; "now I understand."
"We will both forget what has been said tonight, Coralie; we will never think of it, but for the future be good cousins and good friends."
"No," she said, proudly; "there can be no friendship between us."
"You will think better of it; believe me, you have no truer friends than Clare and myself."
"If I ask for bread and you give me a stone, is that anything to make me grateful? But I declare to you, Sir Edgar Trevelyan, that you have slain me; you have slain the womanhood in me tonight by the most cruel blow!"
She looked so wild, so white, so despairing, I went up to her.