But he would only shake his head again.
"'Twas to save your life she rode in on us that morning under the oaks in the glade."
"'Twas a womanly horror of a duel and bloodshed, more belike," said I.
"But she has saved your life thrice since then, as you confess."
"Yes; from a strained sense of wifely duty, as she took good care to tell me."
"None the less—ah, Jack, you do not know her as I do; she would never have consented to stand before the priest with you had there not been something warmer than hatred in her heart."
"'Twas a bitter necessity, fairly forced upon her. Tell me; had there been a spark of love for me in her heart, would she have treated me as the dust beneath her feet on that long infaring from the western mountains? She never spoke a word to me, Dick, in all those weeks."
"Which may prove no more than that you said or did something to cut her to the quick. 'Twould be well in your way, Jack. She is as sensitive as she should be, and you are blunter than I—which is the worst I could say of you."
"No, no; you are far beside the mark. You forget that the breaking of the marriage is of her own proposing—at least, I should say I only hinted at it."
"There may be two sides to that, as well. Have you ever told her that you love her, Jack?"