She ceased speaking, and shrank from Cornel’s clear, candid gaze.
“No, madam, he has not dared—he has not spoken. He does not know that I have taken this step.”
“Most unwisely.”
“No, madam, I know that I am acting wisely—in his interest and yours.”
“My good girl, this is insufferable. If you were not a stranger to our customs in England, I would not listen to you.”
“There is no custom, madam, in a woman’s love, here or in America. Heart speaks to heart. He is my promised husband: give him back to me. I plead to you for your own sake as well as mine.”
“This is mere romance.”
“Again I say no, madam, but the truth. Think of your peril, too.”
“Silence!”
“I will not be silent,” said Cornel firmly. “You love him: I see it in your quivering lips, and the blood that comes and goes in your cheek. You hate me, madam, as a rival. Well, let me prove your love for him.”