“I must not listen to you if you talk of love,” said Amy, interrupting him.
“You must, you shall,” said Lionel, firmly. “It will be the last time.”
“Have I deserved your reproaches?” said Amy, looking straight into his eyes. “You, who deserted and neglected the woman whom you professed to love,—deserted her because of her lowly birth,—did you think there was no pride as well as humility in love? How did you mention my name to your artist friend when you left England without even saying farewell to me?”
“What did I say to Phillips?”
“Yes, I asked him. It was the last straw to which I clung.”
Lionel remembered his parting conversation with Arthur.
“What did he say?”
“He would not tell me how you had spoken of me. This was when I was rich, Lionel, an heiress, possessed of fortune—aye, and of modest rank too. I pressed him. He confessed you had spoken of me. ‘Did he speak of me as you would wish to have heard your sister spoken of by the man whom she loved?’ I asked him.”
“And what was his reply?”
“He said ‘No;’ and from that moment I renounced you and your false love. I had only been in a whirl of jealousy and pride before.”