Pacey stopped short to say this, and took a half turn to go back. To his surprise, Cornel placed her hand upon his arm.
“Take me out of this busy street,” she whispered, “or I shall break down. You do not know how I pleaded to him and offered him forgiveness.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” in a faint whisper, “I offered to forgive everything if he would come away.”
“And he wouldn’t? You tell me he wouldn’t?”
“No!” in the faintest of whispers.
“Oh!” ejaculated Pacey, as he hurried her along. “That settles it then. You offered to forgive him, and he refused? Then you’ve had an escape, my dear. He is not worthy of another thought. There, let me take you back to your brother. I thought better of him, and that the sight of the sweetest, truest little woman who ever breathed would bring him to his senses—make a man of him again. There, I’m very sorry—no, I’m not, for I’ve done my duty by him, and you’ve done yours.”
“No, we have not,” said Cornel, growing firmer once more. “There is much to do yet. This lady—this Contessa?”
“Well, what about her?” said Pacey, frowning.
“You told me that she is very beautiful.”