"Yet once you loved him," said Lora, with a grave wonder in her sad, white face.
She stared and flushed at Lora's gently reproachful words.
She remembered suddenly that someone else had said those words to her in just the same tone of wonder and reproach.
The night of her short-lived triumph came back into her mind—that brilliant bridal-night when she and Howard Templeton had declared war against each other—war to the knife.
"Yes, once I loved him," she said, with a tone of bitter self-scorn. "But listen to me, Lora. Suppose Jack had treated you as Howard Templeton did me?"
"Jack could not have done it; he loved me too truly," said Lora, lifting her head in unconscious pride.
"You are right, Lora, Jack Mainwaring could not have done it. Few men could have been so base," said Xenie, bitterly. "But, Lora, dear, suppose he had treated you so cruelly—mind, I only say suppose—should you not have hated him for it, and wanted to make his heart ache in return?"
Lora was silent a moment. The beautiful young face, so like Xenie's in outline and coloring, so different in its expression of mournful despair, took on an expression of deep tenderness and gentleness as she said, at length:
"No Xenie, I could not have hated Jack even if he had acted like Mr. Templeton. I am very poor-spirited perhaps; but I believe if Jack had treated me so I might have hated the sin, but I could not have helped loving the sinner."