“Oh! darling mother, I could not bear to do anything which you would consider underhand; although my actions would only be the reflection of my own convictions.”
Lady Carey took her daughter’s face in her two hands and stared hard at her. “Are you thinking of doing the same mad thing as Gwen? If so, say it at once; I had rather be prepared for the worst.”
No answer came. Eva dropped her eyelids and spoke no word. At last she softly murmured, “I love Sinclair.”
“Oh! for the matter of that, many have done the same,” derisively remarked her mother, as she gently pushed away the face she held.
“Yes,” breathlessly answered the girl, “but he loves me.”
“Hum! He has told that to many. All this is nonsense, you must put all this out of your silly head. Sinclair is not a marrying man; besides, he is not the husband I would wish you to have.”
Eva stood up and looked straight at her mother. “He is the husband I have chosen.”
“My poor girl, Sinclair is not the man to stick to one woman. He is hypercritical and cynical, I should even say—cruel, where a woman’s love is concerned.”
“But, mother, he has repudiated his past errors—you heard what he said a week ago?”
“Pooh! that was only hysteria, it will pass! It is better to speak to you plainly, Eva; he was Lady Vera’s lover for two years. I know all about it, as I was her confidante through it all. He nearly drove her out of her senses with his capricious moods; her husband, as you know, divorced her; and ever afterwards Sinclair invented new modes of torture for the woman who, I believe, sincerely loved him. She gave him up at last and threw herself at the head of that silly Bob Leyland, who is good to her in his own way.”