She answered by a nod and another tearless sob, but she did not look around or speak to him.
“Yet withal you believe me to be a man of truthful words?”
Again she nodded acquiescence.
“Then, dear Sybil, you must believe my words when I assure you, on my sacred truth and honor, that your suspicions of me are utterly erroneous.”
Now she turned her head, opened her large dark eyes in astonishment, and gazed into his earnest face.
“As Heaven hears me, my own dear wife, I love no other woman in the world but you.”
“But—you are almost always with her!” at length replied Sybil, with another dry sob.
“I confess that, dear; but it was because you were almost always absent on your domestic affairs.”
“You hang enraptured over her, when she sings and plays!”
“Enraptured with her music, darling, not with her. To me she is a prima donna, whose performances I must admire and applaud—nothing more.”