“Right,” said Chevenix.
BOOK V — OF THE NATURE OF AN EPILOGUE, DEALING WITH DESPOINA
I
Her spirits on the rebound, her courage waving in her face, like the flag on a citadel, she hesitated at nothing. On Chevenix's suggestion that they must “play the game with Nevile,” she told her betrothed what she proposed to do. He had raised his eyebrows, but said, “Why not?”
“I thought you didn't love each other,” had been her answer, and he had responded:
“Well, I have no reason to dislike him. In fact, he gave you to me, if you remember.” He chuckled over the memory. “When the thing between us was at its reddest heat, your man came pelting up to me. He had seen you, it appears, and nothing would stop him. I never told you this tale, but you may as well have it now. The man's a lunatic, you know. What do you think he wanted? How do you think he put it? As thus: 'I loathe you, my dear man'—I'm giving you the substance—'You stand for everything I'm vowed to destroy; but I hope you'll marry her, and tie her to you for life.' That was his little plan. As you know, I couldn't oblige him. He thought I could!”