“In no manner at all, dear. How could one so gentle as yourself offend any one?” exclaimed Lyon Berners, rising, and taking both her unresisting hands in his own; and feeling for the first time a sentiment of tenderness, as well as of admiration, for her.
“But I thought I had offended you. You have been so changed to me of late,” murmured Rosa, with her blue eyes full of tears.
“No, no, dear, not really changed, indeed. Only—absorbed by other engagements,” answered Lyon Berners, evasively.
“You are the only friend I have in the whole world. And if you should desert me, I should perish,” murmured Rosa, pathetically.
“But I will never desert you, dear. Nor am I the only friend you have in the world. My wife is surely your friend,” said Lyon Berners, earnestly.
Slowly and sorrowfully Rosa Blondelle shook her head, murmuring sadly:
“No woman ever was my friend. I know not why.”
“I can easily imagine why. But in regard to my dear wife, you are mistaken. Surely she has proved herself your friend.”
“She is a noble lady, and I honor her. She is my benefactress, and I thank her. But she is not my friend, and so I do not love her.”
“I am sorry to hear you say so, dear.”