I gave him my hand—he held it as he always did hold it, as if it were something very precious and sacred, letting it lie in his palm, and looking down at it as if it were a sort of white wonder to him.
"But ask her the question," said her Grace, and then I glanced at the Duchess and saw that her cheeks were pink with excitement, and her eyes shining; "ask her that straight, straight question on which all your happiness depends, Mr. Fanning."
"I will, your Grace. You do not love me, Westenra, but you will try to be a good wife to me, and you will try to love me, that is, in the future. There is no one else whom you love now, is there? I know, of course, what your reply will be, darling, and it is a hard question to ask of you, as though I doubted you. There is no one, is there, Westenra? Speak, little girl, don't be afraid, there is no one?"
"But there is," I faltered. I covered my face for a moment, then I checked back my tears and looked at him as steadily as he had looked at me.
"There is another," he repeated, "and you—you love him? Who is he?"
"I won't tell you his name. I shall get over it. I could not help myself—I promised to marry you, but I never said that I could love you, for I don't—not now at least, and there is another, but I will never see him again. It won't make any difference to you, Albert."
"Yes, but it will," he said, "all the difference on earth." He dropped my hand as though it hurt him. He turned and faced the Duchess.
"I suppose you are talking of Mr. Randolph. I quite understand, he belongs to the set in which she was born, but he deserted her when she wanted him most. It can scarcely be that she cares for him. There, I don't want either of you to tell me his name just now. I have heard enough for the present."
He strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.