"Much that you have not heard was more horrid still."
"It is unbearable! His wounds or bruises must have exasperated his temper. Yet I cannot speak to him of that which I did not hear, as to do so would appear too much as if you and I had some secret confidences, and Madame Tolstoff, I fear, has hinted at something of this kind already."
"I asked you to marry me, dearest Valerie."
"Yes--vainly," said she, with a half-smile on her partly-averted face.
"Vainly--why?"
"Do not press me to say why."
"Could you love me, Valerie?"
"I might."
"Might, Valerie?" (I was never weary of repeating her sweet name; and what meant this admission, if she declined me?) "You do not doubt my love for you?" I urged.
"No, though I fear it is but a passing fancy, born of idleness and the ennui of Yalta."