His fastidious recoil was strengthened by the suspicion that she was attempting by playing on his passion to mold him to her will in the matter of Agatha's punishment. He moved away a little. "Excuse me," he said, "I shouldn't dream of taking such a liberty with the fiancée of Murray Prendergast."
"Oh, don't!" He felt her shudder, and again wondered if it were real, or a pretense. "All the years ahead belong to him, and just this little moment is yours and mine."
"I lay no claim even to a moment of your time, Julia. I asked from you all or nothing."
"Tell me just once that you love me, Burton."
At his continued silence, she drew herself away. "You're different. You don't care for me as you did."
She waited vainly for him to deny the accusation. Then again she caught his hand. She might have been a loyal wife, fearing that her husband's heart was slipping from her grasp and longing to be reassured. "Burton," she implored, "tell me whether you love me."
"I thank God—no."
She fell back, and he could hear her stormy breathing. Well as he knew every inflection of her voice, he hardly recognized it when she spoke again.
"That wretched woman! That creature! She's to blame. She's stolen your heart from me."