“Grandly.”
“And now this has all come like a cloud,” sighed Cornel dreamily. Then again to Pacey, in spite of her brother’s frown, “Is she very beautiful?”
Pacey paused for a moment, and then said sadly—“Very beautiful.”
“And does she love him as he does her?”
“I fear so,” said Pacey at last.
Cornel drew a long and piteous sigh, and they saw the tears brimming in her eyes, run over, and trickle down her cheeks.
“Let us go, dear,” she said softly. “I was too happy for it to last. Forgive me: I felt that I must know—all. Good-bye, Mr Pacey,” she continued, holding out her hand, while her face was of a deadly white. “I am glad you wrote. You thought it would be best, but he must love her better than ever he loved me, and perhaps it is for his advancement.”
“It is for his ruin, I tell you,” cried Pacey fiercely.
“But you said she loved him. Is she not true and good?”
“Girl!” cried Pacey, with his brows knotted by the swelling veins, “can the devil who tempts a man in woman’s form be true and good?”