She clung to him fondly again, and her voice was very soft and tender, as she rested her brow upon his breast.
“When will you say to me—‘Stay; go back no more?’ Armstrong, this life is killing me. End all the miserable trickery and subterfuge. That woman is planning and plotting to take my place. Once it roused up all my pride and hatred; now all that is past. Let him sue for his divorce if Lady Grayson wishes, and then I shall have my revenge: for he will laugh in her false, deceitful face. Marry her?—Not he.—What is it, dearest?”
He had started back, and as she raised her eyes, she saw that he was looking angrily at something behind her.
She turned slowly, calling upon herself for readiness to meet the face of her husband, as she believed, but it was Cornel standing just within the doorway, flushed, proud, and stern, and she uttered a sigh of relief.
“A domani, signore,” she said quietly to Armstrong, and then turned and took a step toward the door, but Cornel raised her hand, and the proud, haughty-looking figure shrank back a step or two in surprise.
“Stop!” said Cornel firmly; and she closed the door behind. “I wish to speak to you both.”
“Cornel!” cried Armstrong, in a low and excited voice, “this is madness. For Heaven’s sake, go. Have you no delicacy—no shame?”
“You ask me that!” she cried scornfully; and he shrank from her indignant eyes. “Man, where is your own delicacy?—woman, where is your shame? I claim the right—in the name of truth and honour—to come and upbraid you both.”
Valentina made a gesture with her hands, and turned to Armstrong to say in French—
“What does the strange lady mean?”