Then Rosamund spoke.
“You really think I ought to crush my pride, and—and——”
Hope laughed in Andrew’s face—laughed and fled—for he looked in the face of Miss Rainham, and there was no sign of yielding in it.
“Yes,” he said almost sullenly.
“That is as much as to say that you were wrong.”
“I—perhaps I was wrong. What does it matter?”
“It matters greatly. Suppose I had my money now would you run away from me?”
“I—I suppose I should act as I did before.”
“Then you don’t care for me any more than you did?”
“I love you a thousand times more,” he cried, turning angry, haggard eyes to her. “Yes, I believe I was wrong. Nothing would send me from you now but yourself——”