"To make atonement—how?" Lady Vera asks him, with a curling lip and scornful eye.
Her scorn disconcerts him for a moment. His face flushes and his eyes fall, then he rallies, facing her with assumed calmness and humility that but poorly hide the eagerness of his heart.
"In the only way possible, of course," he answers. "By repudiating and putting aside the lady whom I married after your supposed death, and by installing you in your rightful place. Will you come home to me, Vera, my beautiful wife? Darnley House shall open wide its door to receive you, and there is no more beautiful home in London. It is elegant enough for you, even, my haughty princess."
She stares at him speechless with anger and amazement.
"Will you come to me, Vera?" he repeats, half opening his arms and speaking very tenderly.
She retreats before him as he advances. Her face flames with anger.
"How dare you—how dare you?" she pants, brokenly. "I scorn you, Leslie Noble! Surely you know that. Why, you are less to me than the dust beneath my feet."
"I am your husband by your own confession," he answers, sullenly, and with the fire of baffled purpose blazing in his eyes.
"Yes, you are my husband," she answers, with a scorn intense enough to blight him where he stands. "You are my husband, but you have no rights over me that I shall acknowledge, be sure of that. You forfeited all claim on my respect in that hour when you stood tamely by and suffered my enemies to insult and revile me, while you, my husband, uttered no word to defend me from their wicked abuse."
"I was a fool, and blind then," he answers. "I was weakly dominated and ruled by a passion for Ivy Cleveland, which, God knows, I have rued and repented long ago. I know her now for what she is, a selfish, heartless woman, and her mother, a devil incarnate. I have told them that there is no bond between us, and that they must go. If you will forgive me and come home to me, Vera, I will devote my life to your happiness."