"No," said she, violently. "No!"
"Why, then, do you not have this abominable marriage annulled?" he demanded. "I know nothing of Champneys, except that he's an artist,—and, truth forces me to say, a great one. But if he doesn't love you, if you do not love him, do you think anything but misery is ahead for you both, if you decide to carry out the terms of that promise extorted from you?"
She shrank back in her chair. She made no reply, and Hayden came and stood directly before her, looking down at her.
"And I—am I nothing to you Anne? I love you. What of me, Anne?"
"What can I say?" said she, falteringly. "I am not free."
"If you were free, would you marry me? For that is what I am asking you to do,—free yourself, and marry me."
She lifted her troubled eyes. "If I were free," she said, "if I were free—Berkeley, give me time to consider this. It isn't only the annulling of my marriage to a man I had never seen until the day I married him, and have never seen since,—it's the breaking of my promise to Uncle Chadwick—" They were in the library, and she looked up at the portrait above the mantel. Hayden's glance followed hers.
"He had no right to extort any such promise from you!" he cried. "Anne, think it over! Weigh Peter Champneys and me in the balance. And,—let the best man win, Anne. Will you?"
She regarded him steadfastly. "Yes," she said.
"And when you have decided, you will let me know?"