Her voice sounds like the voice of one dying. She covers her face with her hands. He knows that she is crying. Very gently he takes down one of the hands and holds it between both his own, and presses it to his lips. How dear she has always been to him! He realizes in this moment how dear she still is.
"Marian, have pity on me," says he hoarsely. "I have suffered a great deal. And your tears——"
"My tears! They will avail me nothing," says she bitterly. "When you have forsaken me, what is left?"
"Have I forsaken you?" He pauses, as if to control the agitation that is threatening to overcome him. "When all I cared for was lost to me," he goes on presently, his eyes upon the ground, "when you had told me that marriage between us was impossible, then one thing remained, and one only—ambition. The old place had been ours for two centuries—it had its claim on me. If love was not to be my portion, I felt I might as well do all I could for the old name—the old place."
"And your wife? Was that honourable towards her?" She smiles, but her smile is a sneer. "After all, she would not care," says she. "She carried her point! She has compelled you to raise her from the mud to the sky!"
Rylton draws back suddenly. All at once recollection comes to him. His wife! Yes, Tita is his wife, and honour binds him to her. He drops Mrs. Bethune's hand.
"I have been quite honourable," says he coldly. "I arranged matters with her. She knows—she is content to know—that——"
"What?" Mrs. Bethune has felt the change in his manner ever since she mentioned Tita's name. "That you once loved me!"
"No," frowning, "I have not told her that."
"Ah!" cries she, with a sort of passionate relief, "I thank you for that, even though your love for me may now be dead. I thank you for that; and as for your wife, what is she to you?"