"Your belief was a true one," she returns calmly, tears standing in her beautiful eyes. "But you, by your own act, severed us."
"I did?"
"Yes. Nay, Sir Adrian, be as honest in your dealings with me as I am with you, and confess the truth."
"I don't know what you mean," declares Adrian, in utter bewilderment; "you would tell me that you think it was some act of mine that—that ruined my chance with you?"
"You know it was"—reproachfully.
"I know nothing of the kind"—hotly. "I only know that I have always loved you and only you, and that I shall never love another."
"You forget—Dora Talbot!" says Florence, in a very low tone. "I think, Sir Adrian, your late coldness to her has been neither kind nor just."
"I have never been either colder or warmer to Dora Talbot than I have been to any other ordinary acquaintance of mine," returns Sir Adrian, with considerable excitement. "There is surely a terrible mistake somewhere."
"Do you mean to tell me," says Florence, rising in her agitation, "that you never spoke of love to Dora?"
"Certainly I spoke of love—of my love for you," he declares vehemently. "That you should suppose I ever felt anything for Mrs. Talbot but the most ordinary friendship seems incredible to me. To you, and you alone, my heart has been given for many a day. Not the vaguest tenderness for any other woman has come between my thoughts and your image since first we met."