“You,” she said, thoughtfully—“you will never know the misery of it—or the happiness!”
I smiled faintly, and without mirth. Poor girl! There was something terribly pathetic in her little confession. From the bottom of my heart I pitied her.
“And Mr. Deville?” I asked, softly.
Her face fell a little. The enthusiasm died away. Still she was hopeful.
“I am not sure,” she said, looking away from me into the fire. “He is kind to me, and I think that he likes me—a little. He does not care for me as I do for him, of course,” she added, sadly. “Why should he? I have done nothing for him, and he has done so much for me. It has been all on one side. I have had no chance yet; but I could help him a little. I am rich, very much richer than any one thinks, and they say that, although he has a great house and lands, that he is very poor, and that he has heavy debts. I could pay them all off,” she declared, with a little note of triumph in her tone. “I have what would come in English money to nearly a million pounds. I should give it all to him, every penny. It would make him happy to pay off all his mortgages and old debts. Don’t you think so?” she asked, anxiously.
“I daresay it might,” I answered, gravely. “I should think it certainly would.”
“And I love him so,” she repeated, softly. “It would be such happiness to do this for him. Perhaps he would not love me very much just yet, but when I had him all to myself it would come little by little. I could make it come; a woman can when she has a man all to herself. I am sure of it. I should have no fear at all.”
Her eyes were very soft now and very bright. One forgot her sharp features and sallow cheeks. Poor girl! Then suddenly she looked away from the fire, and, rising, came over to my side.
“You are wondering why I have come to you to tell you my secret,” she said. “I will tell you. I am afraid of you. You are so handsome, and I am plain. Oh! yes, I am—I know it. Never mind, I love him. But he does not know that, and he admires you. I see him look at you, and though he is kind to me, he does not look at me like that. And you—you do not care for him. I have watched you, and I am sure of it. You do not want him, do you?”
“No, I do not want him,” I answered, but without looking at her.