“It is a pity,” went on Teresa relentlessly, “that you had not discovered the extent of your powers before attempting to apply them. You might have been saved this—”
“Humiliation?”
“Humiliation.”
She stood upright, a slim dark figure, her eyes judging him gravely and coldly. Behind her were the thunder-clouds of Etna.
“If humiliation were all, it would be nothing,” he said, his breath coming shortly. Perhaps he hoped she would have questioned him further. But her thoughts were with Sylvia.
“No,” she said, “nothing.”
“Of course,”—the words shot out from him in spite of himself—“you only see one side. I suppose I can’t induce you to judge fairly?”
“I cannot see that my opinion is concerned. The affair is my sister’s. She has decided for herself. Absolutely independently,” she added, with the desire to drive home Sylvia’s capability.
“But you approve?”
“I think she has acted for her own happiness,” said Teresa guardedly.