She flung her hands wide in a gesture of the most utter despair. "That's just the very worst part of it," she said. "That's just why there is no getting away."
"You don't want his love?" Scott questioned, his voice very low.
She shook her head in instant negation. "Oh no, no, no!"
He bent slightly towards her, looking into her face of quivering agitation. "Dinah, are you sure it isn't all this pomp and circumstance that is frightening you? Are you sure you have no love at all in your heart for him?"
She did not shrink from his look. Though she thought his eyes were stern, she met them with the courage of desperation. "I am quite—quite—sure," she told him brokenly. "I never loved him. I was dazzled, that's all. But now—but now—the glamour is all gone. I would give anything—oh, anything in the world—if only he would marry Rose de Vigne instead!"
Her voice failed and with it her strength. She covered her face and wept hopelessly, tragically.
Scott stood motionless by her side. His brows were drawn as the brows of a man in pain, but the eyes below them had the brightness of unwavering resolution. There was something rocklike about his pose.
The pattering of the rain mingled with the sound of Dinah's anguished sobbing; there seemed to be no other sound in all the world.
He moved at last, and into his eyes there came a very human look, dispelling all hardness. He bent to her again, his hand upon her shoulder. "My child," he said gently, "don't be so distressed! It isn't too late—even now."
He felt her respond to his touch, but she could not lift her head. "I can never face him," she sobbed hopelessly. "I shall never, never dare!"