"I have said nothing of the kind. Edith is one of the noblest, the truest of women; but can't you see—it looks as though she had been deceived, imposed upon. The loss of title and wealth would make a difference to any woman on earth."
"Very little to a woman who loves, Victor. I hope—I hope—this young girl loves you?"
Again the color rose over his face—again he turned impatiently away.
"She will love me," he answered; "she has promised it, and Edith
Darrell is a girl to keep her word."
"So," Miss Catheron said, softly and sadly, "it is the old French proverb over again, 'There is always one who loves, and one who is loved.' She has owned to you that she is not in love with you, then? Pardon me, Victor, but your happiness is very near to me."
"She has owned it," he answered, "with the rare nobility and candor that belongs to her. Such affection as mine will win its return—'love begets love,' they say. It must."
"Not always, Victor—ah, not always, else what a happy woman I had been! But surely she cares for no one else?"
"She cares for no one else," he answered, doggedly enough, but in his inmost heart that never-dying jealousy of Charley Stuart rankled. "She cares for no one else—she has told me so, and she is pride, and truth, and purity itself. If I lose her through this, then this secret of insanity will have wrecked forever still another life."
"If she is what you picture her," Inez said steadily, "no loss of rank or fortune would ever make her give you up. But you are not to lose either—you need not even tell her, if you choose."
"I can have no secrets from my plighted wife—Edith must know all. But the secret will be as safe with her as with me."