“You must hear me,” he said; “and forgive my awkwardness for speaking as I do. You know my story so well: have I not always been steadfast to that love?”
She sobbed violently and tried to snatch away her hand, but he held it firmly.
“I have always tried to be to you as a friend. Heaven knows I would not have wounded you like this.”
“Yes,” she sobbed bitterly, “Heaven knows.”
“Why did you stab me with those cruel words?” he cried resentfully.
“I don’t know,” she wailed. “I was mad. It makes me mad to see you go on worshipping her as you do. Does she make you love and hate her too, as she does me?”
“Hush—hush!” he said quickly. “I want to like and respect you, Cora Dean.”
“Like! Respect!” she cried, with a flash of her former rage. “Why have I degraded myself like this?”
“Do you not trust me?” he said gently, as he looked in her eyes. “Do you think I should be such a despicable coward as ever to whisper word of this to a soul? Come,” he said, with a frank smile, “we have both been unfortunate. Let us be friends.”
“Friends?” she cried. “No; a woman never forgives a slight like this. Do you think I could?”