"No, my dear, I cannot," answered the duke, regretfully.
"Then I cannot come down to dinner. That is all," she said, sullenly closing her eyes.
"I shall be sorry for that; but we must do the best we can without you for the count, having been invited, must be permitted to come."
She languidly drew up to the table, and touched the bell that summoned the footman with the breakfast-tray.
When it was placed upon the table, she poured out two cups of coffee, handed one to the duke, and took the other herself.
When she had drained it, she arose, excused herself, and went back to her own room.
She closed and locked the door, and threw herself upon the bed, groaning:
"Oh! how could Waldemar accept that invitation? How can he bear to sit down with me at the Duke of Hereward's table? Has he no delicacy? No pity? Ah, mercy, what a state is mine! And yet I was not to blame for this! I have not deserved it! I have not deserved it! One of us three must die; I, or Waldemar, or the Duke of Hereward; and I am the one; for, I hate myself for the position I am in! I hate, loathe and utterly abhor myself! I do. I do. I wish the lightning would strike me dead! dead, before I have to meet one of them again!" she moaned, rolling and grovelling on the bed.
There came a soft rap at the door, followed by the kind voice of the duke, saying:
"Valerie, Valerie, my love! How are you? Do you want anything? May I come in?"