“Now you will understand why I felt I could not marry you validly in Cornwall; and I wanted—was it selfish?—I wanted the joy of revealing my own identity when I had you, at last, in my own beautiful home. Oh, my dear—my dear! Cannot our love stand the test of so light a thing as this?”
She ceased speaking and waited.
She was sure of her victory; but it seemed strange, in dealing with so fine a nature as that of the man she loved, that she should have had to fight so hard over what appeared to her a paltry matter. But she knew false pride often rose gigantic about the smallest things; the very unworthiness of the cause seeming to add to the unreasonable growth of its dimensions.
She was deeply hurt; but she was a woman, and she loved him. She waited patiently to see his love for her arise victorious over unworthy pride.
At last Jim Airth stood up.
“I cannot face it yet,” he said, slowly. “I must be alone. I ought to have known from the very first that you were—are—Lady Ingleby. I am very sorry that you should have to suffer for that which is no fault of your own. I must—go—now. In twenty-four hours, I will come back to talk it over.”
He turned, without another word; without a touch; without a look. He swung round on his heel, and walked away across the lawn.
Myra’s dismayed eyes could scarcely follow him.
He mounted the terrace; passed into the house. A door closed.
Jim Airth was gone!