Lady Bellamy smiled again.
“You are a curious woman,” she said; “but, supposing that there were to be a repetition of these little stories after he loved you, what would you say then?”
Angela looked troubled, and thought awhile.
“He could never go far from me,” she answered.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I hold the strings of his heart in my hands, and I have only to lift them to draw him back to me—so. No other woman, no living force, can keep him from me, if I choose to bid him come.”
“Supposing that to be so, how about the self-respect you spoke of just now? Could you bear to take your lover back from the hands of another woman?”
“That would entirely depend upon the circumstances, and upon what was just to the other woman.”
“You would not then throw him up without question?”
“Lady Bellamy, I may be very ignorant and simple, but I am neither mad nor a fool. What do you suppose that my life would be worth to me if I threw Arthur up? If I remained single it would be an aching void, as it is now, and if I married any other man whilst he still lived, it would become a daily and shameful humiliation such as I had rather die than endure.”