With her clear eyes fixed steadily on his face she heard him to the end of this long speech without a quiver of the eyelids--without the trembling of her lip--and when he finished:
"So I am the married woman you said you loved?" she asked coldly.
"Yes! and you say----"
"I say now what I said then," she answered sternly, "no man can be a true lover if he would wish to drag the woman he loves through the mud of the world."
Eustace flushed deeply.
"You misunderstand me," he said hurriedly; "I do not want to drag you down. I would not have spoken, only I thought a divorce----"
"A divorce!" she echoed, rising to her feet, "and what is that but dishonour to me and to the child?"
"Always the child," he said sullenly.
"And why not? The only pure thing in the world I have to love. My husband has deceived me. You have changed from a friend to a lover. I cannot listen to you without dishonour. What you said was perfectly true--my love for the child is the selfish passion of motherhood. I pardon the words which you have spoken to me to-night, but we must never meet again."
"We will not," he muttered hoarsely, "I leave England for ever."