“Didn’t I see her with the diamonds, taking them from him?—ah!” Hugh broke off, and drove his heel into the ground, unable to recall the scene without passion that was almost uncontrollable, and turning white with the effort to restrain language and gesture to the dry composure which he had adopted.
“Her father said she was already engaged to him,” he said, after a pause; then hurried on with his story, and demanded:
“Now, what do you say to that?”
“That I would not have believed you could be such a fool,” would have been Arthur’s natural answer, but he modified it into, “Well, I think you were very hasty, and rather hard on the poor child—”
“Hard? Do you think I was hard—don’t you think I was justified in what I did?”
“I don’t think you allowed enough for her father’s authority and her own timidity—certainly.”
“Sometimes I think I acted like a brute,” said Hugh.
“Well, but you see the worse you acted the less you were deceived in her,” said Arthur, plainly. “Well, then you came home and thought it was all over?”
“Yes. Perhaps you can understand now what caused the temper and the conduct which led to—to—. Could I have had any conscience, any feeling, and have renewed my happiness after last year?”
“But how was it?” said Arthur, hardly comprehending a view so unlike his own instincts.