"Violet! are you mad, or do you think me so? Is my love an insult, that...."
"It is an insult—a deep insult. Now, sir, will you let me pass?"
"I will know what is at the bottom of all this. You may reject me, but you shall explain. It is so utterly inconceivable that, after the encouragement you have given me, you should pretend to regard my avowal as an insult, that I demand an explanation."
In spite of the rising passion in his breast, he uttered this so collectedly and so earnestly, that Violet was somewhat perplexed, and began almost to doubt her own conclusions.
"Mr. Ashley," she said, "a short while ago, such an avowal could only have been felt by me as an honour; but since that, your own conscience will tell you why I reject, and reject with deep scorn, the offer of your hand. Pray let me say no more."
His conscience did tell him, at least it suggested what the cause most probably was; but wishing to come to an explanation, he said,—
"My conscience tells me that I love you—only you; will you tell me wherein lies the insult?"
A long struggle ensued in her mind; she could not give him the explanation he demanded, because unable to bring herself to mention her stepmother.
"If you persist," she said at last, "I must persist also. I tell you again, the offer of your love to me—here, in this house, is an outrage, and scorn is my only answer. Does that suffice? Would you have me add more bitterness to my refusal?"
"Violet, I cannot quit you without..... Tell me, is there not that in your mind which you shrink from uttering, and which has reference to some one in this house?"