Even at this she never flushed; she continued to smile in triumph. “He adores me—but what’s that to you? Of course you have all the future,” she went on; “but I know you as if I had made you!”
Benyon reflected a moment “If he adores you, you are all right. If our divorce is pronounced, you will be free, and then he can marry you properly, which he would like ever so much better.”
“It’s too touching to hear you reason about it. Fancy me telling such a hideous story—about myself—me—me!” And she touched her breasts with her white fingers.
Benyon gave her a look that was charged with all the sickness of his helpless rage. “You—you!” he repeated, as he turned away from her and passed through the door which Mr. Roy had left open.
She followed him into the hall, she was close behind him; he moved before her as she pressed. “There was one more reason,” she said. “I would n’t be forbidden. It was my hideous pride. That’s what prevents me now.”
“I don’t care what it is,” Benyon answered, wearily, with his hand on the knob of the door.
She laid hers on his shoulder; he stood there an instant feeling it, wishing that her loathsome touch gave him the right to strike her to the earth,—to strike her so that she should never rise again.
“How clever you are, and intelligent always,—as you used to be; to feel so perfectly and know so well, without more scenes, that it’s hopeless—my ever consenting! If I have, with you, the shame of having made you promise, let me at least have the profit!”
His back had been turned to her, but at this he glanced round. “To hear you talk of shame—!”
“You don’t know what I have gone through; but, of course, I don’t ask any pity from you. Only I should like to say something kind to you before we part I admire you, esteem you: I don’t many people! Who will ever tell her, if you don’t? How will she ever know, then? She will be as safe as I am. You know what that is,” said Georgina, smiling.