She did not resent this mode of putting questions to her. Somehow she felt he had the right. He had asked her to be his wife, and he had the right to know. Besides, she was strangely wrought upon. If he had not slept since the previous night, neither had she.
"Yes—no," she answered—"that is, I have never met any one that I cared for—enough to marry."
"Then you love this man—Leicester—still?"
"No."
"He is nothing to you now?"
"No, I do not think so."
"You have never felt that you treated him harshly, unfairly; that you did not give him a chance of proving to you that his love was real?"
"What could I do?" she asked. "No woman with self-respect could consent to be treated in such a way. He had deceived me once, how could I trust him again?"
"How indeed?"
She looked at him quickly. She could not understand the tone of his voice, and again a great fear possessed her. He seemed to have mastered her will, rather than her heart. She stood almost in awe of this man whose life was still a mystery to her, but who had, in a way she could not understand, made her feel that he was all the world to her. For he had done this, and yet in her heart of hearts she did not feel that she loved him.