He took her out and put her in the carriage, stepped in, and seated himself by her side and ordered the hack to drive back to the hotel.
“Gloria, dear Gloria, my own dearest lady,” he began, as he took one of her frozen hands.
“Don’t speak to me! Don’t touch me!” she exclaimed, snatching her hand from his gentle hold, pulling her veil over her face, and tucking her head down in a corner of the cushions.
“Ah! what have I done to offend you, lady?” he pleaded.
“Be silent, I say! And keep your hands to yourself, unless you wish to kill me! But you may do that one thing! You may kill me, if you like! I wish you would!”
“Great Heaven! Gloria, what is the matter with you?”
“I am crazy! crazy! I told you I was crazy! And if you do not leave me alone I shall go raving mad!” she wildly exclaimed, and then pushed her head down in the cushions again, as if she would shut out all sight of earth and heaven.
David Lindsay sank back in his seat and turned deadly pale as he asked himself the question:
What had he done to offend and alienate her? To fill her mind with such abhorrence of himself? He had obeyed her in everything. He had consecrated his life to her happiness. True, she was a rich heiress, and he was but a poor boy; yet, if their cases had been reversed, and he had been the wealthy man and she the poor girl, he felt that he would equally have consecrated his life to her. He loved her with his whole being, and since she had condescended to him, he had hoped finally to become more worthy of her, and to win her love; for deep down in his soul he felt the prophecy that he should become worthy of her—
“Worthy as a king.”