"Coralie," I said, "forget all this nonsense and be your own bright self again."
"My own bright self will never live again; a man's scorn has killed me."
Suddenly, before I knew what she was doing, she had flung herself in a fearful passion of tears in my arms. She was sobbing with her face close to mine and her hot hands clinging to me.
"With it all, Edgar, she does not love you; she loved Miles; she loves Crown Anstey, and not you. Forget her, dear; give her up. I love you. She is cold and formal and prudish; she is not capable of loving you as I do. She loves your fortune, not you, and I—oh, I would die if you bid me! Give her up, Edgar, and love me!"
When the passionate outburst of tears had had full vent, I unclasped her arms and placed her in a chair.
"Let us talk reasonably, Coralie. You ask me what is impossible. I shall never, with life, give up my engagement to Miss Thesiger."
A strange, bitter smile parted her white lips. I knew afterward what that meant.
"It is better to speak plainly," I continued, "in a case like this—better for both. Listen to me, and believe, Coralie, that even had I never seen Miss Thesiger, I—forgive me, but it is the truth—I should never have loved you with more than a cousin's love; my friendship, my esteem, my care, are all yours; more I can never give you."
Pray God I may never see another woman as I saw her then. She rose; with her white face and glittering eyes. Then came to mind that line:
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."