"It shall end at once," she replied. "It is to be war between us, Sir Edgar—war to the knife!"
"There is no need for war," I said, wearily. "Let us forget all about it. There will be no need for you to do anything romantic, Coralie. Stay on at Crown Anstey, and make yourself happy with Clare."
"Yes," she replied, with that strange smile, "I shall remain at Crown Anstey—I have no thought of going away."
She turned as though she would quit the room. I went up to her.
"Good night, Coralie. Shake hands, and let us part friends."
"When I touch your hand again, Sir Edgar, it will be under very different circumstances. Good night."
She swept from the room with the dignity of an outraged queen, leaving me unhappy, bewildered and anxious.
I had the most chivalrous love and devotion for all womankind, and I must confess to feeling most dreadfully shocked. It seemed almost unheard of.
Then I tried to forget it—the passionate words, the pale, tearful beauty of that wonderful face. Strange that Clare's conviction should so soon be realized. What of that nervous conviction she had that evil would come of this fair woman's love? What if that were realized, too?
I sat late that night, dreaming not only of the pure, sweet girl I had won, but of the woman whose burning tears had fallen on my hands. What harm could she do if she tried? What did she mean by being richly dowered? Had she any fortune that I did not know of? Her words were mysterious. Strange to say, the same nervous forebodings that had seized Clare seized me.