"Do you understand?" she directly addressed her husband. "Do you understand my position?"
She pushed back the dark hair from her face, and her long brown eyes were bright.
My lord gave her one glance.
"Yes, you are my wife," he said.
"Since a month ago"—a painful colour beat in her cheeks—"what of my feelings?"
Ardently, yet almost unconsciously, she desired to bring things to an issue, to force these two into action, to make a scene, to have a chance of expressing her own inarticulate passion; so had she wished to bring Marius to a pitch of she knew not what emotion when she came down to the library, knowing him there alone and unprepared.
"What of me?" she cried again.
"I' faith I know not," answered my lord. "What of you? 'Tis in your own hands."
She felt he slighted her as a creature of another world, and the quick red deepened beneath her eyes.