“I pray you cease!” he entreated her, but she went on rapidly.
“Let me speak, Robert!” she cried, clinging to him frantically. “I can no longer contain myself, for I love you better than my life, better than my honor, my good name; I care not for them now. Oh, pity me, pity me!” and she flung herself down on her knees before him and burst into a storm of irrepressible weeping.
Robert looked around apprehensively. The thought that someone might suddenly enter the room filled him with alarmed dismay. With a quick movement he raised her to her feet, and his voice trembled with deep feeling when he next spoke. “I do pity you,” he said sorrowfully, “but I pity your husband more, when he learns of your faithlessness.” He paused and regarded her with reproachful sadness. “Oh, why have you severed forever the threads of our friendship by such imprudence, such rashness?” As he finished he bowed his head and walked slowly toward the door.
“Do not leave me like this!” she panted desperately. “Can’t you see you are killing me by your coldness.” She held out her arms in piteous entreaty as she continued tenderly, “Tell me you didn’t mean it, Robert. Say you are but testing my love for you.”
He turned on her quickly and at his look of contemptuous scorn she drooped her head and the hot blood rushed to her face. “Are you lost to all sense of prudence, honor and decency?” he cried in scathing accents. “Heaven knows I’m no moralist, no saint,” and he gave a mirthless little laugh as he thought of the opinion Edinburgh had formed concerning his morality—then he went on firmly, solemnly, “But I would sooner cut this erring heart of mine out of this body than fall so low as to betray the honor of my friend who trusts me.” She started to speak again, but he raised his hand quickly. “Say no more, Lady Glencairn,” he said with calm dignity, “an’ I’ll forget this distressing conversation, and continue thro’ life to respect equally with himself, the wife of my friend.”
Slowly the warm color faded from her cheeks, leaving her ashy pale, while through her suddenly narrowed eyelids a vindictive light gleamed tigerishly.
“You’ve said enough!” she hissed through her clenched teeth. “I have lowered myself to you as I would to no other man living, only to be scorned and humiliated. God!” she laughed wildly, hysterically, and threw herself face downward upon the ottoman. “Fool, fool!” she cried with bitter self-abasement. “How I hate and despise myself for what I have done; would I had died before I had uttered such damning words,” and she beat her jeweled hands frantically against the cushions.
“I beseech you to be careful, Lady Glencairn,” cried Robert in amazed alarm, going to her.
She turned on him fiercely. “You, of all men, posing as a model of virtue and goodness, prating of husband’s honor, wife’s duty.” She measured him with a scornful, sneering glance of fury. “You, who have the name of making love to every female in petticoats who crosses your path, you hypocrite!”
Robert fixed his eyes upon her in silence and the utter scorn of the look stung her heart to its center. Presently he controlled his anger sufficiently to be able to speak, and still eying her with that straight, keen look of immeasurable disdain, he said in cold, deliberate accents, “Your ladyship has been misinformed as to my past conduct. I do not claim to be more than human, but I know my name is as yet clear from the taint of dishonor.”