But he knew he could never tell her the truth, much as he sometimes longed to do it, in a sudden anger at her ignoble nature. He could not love the girl who had been taken from a foundling asylum, and placed in the stead of his own lost darling. Ah, no, it was impossible! It seemed to him that there was nothing lovable about Roma, although his wife clung to her with devotion.
He looked at her as she faced him in the moonlight, so proud and confident of her position; her jewels gleaming, her silks rustling as she moved, and thought that, but for the chance that had brought her into his home, she, too, might now be dressed like a servant as she had so contemptuously said of poor Liane Lester.
He felt as if he should like to cast it into her face, the willful, insolent beauty, but he clinched his teeth over the bitter words.
"Heaven help me to bear my cross for Elinor's sake!" he thought.
Roma suddenly came closer to him, and placed her hand on his arm, saying coaxingly:
"Please don't be angry, papa, dear! I didn't mean to seem heartless!"
"I'm glad of that, Roma, for your heart should be full of sympathy, instead of contempt, for that poor, pretty, little sewing girl."
"Yes, papa," gently answered Roma, for she intended to ask him for some new jewels to-morrow, and did not wish to vex him.
"Tell me," he continued eagerly, "all that you know about this pretty Miss Lester."