"You are cruelly frank!" she cried; and he answered:
"I lament the painful necessity, but circumstances leave me no alternative, Mrs. Clarke. I feel that I entered into an engagement too hastily, and that its sudden rupture is a relief. I tender my friendship to your daughter with profound gratitude for her kindness, but I can never again be her lover."
In the face of such frankness she sat dumb. What was there to say that could move him?
Her heart sank at the thought of Roma's disappointment. She rose unsteadily to her feet, blinded by angry tears.
"I may still retain your friendship?" he pleaded, but her lip curled in scorn.
"No, you are cruel and unjust to Roma. I despise you!" she answered, in wrath, as she stumbled from the room, wondering at his heartlessness.
She would not have wondered so much if she could have known that Roma had never really filled his heart, but that the glamour of her fascinations and her open preference had somehow drawn him into a proposal that had brought him no happiness, save a sort of pride in winning the beautiful belle and heiress from many competitors. All the while he did not really love her; it was just his pride and vanity that were flattered.
There had come a sudden, painful awakening that fateful day, when rescuing Liane Lester's veil. He had looked deep into those shy, lovely eyes of hers, and felt his heart leap wildly, quickened by a glance into new life.
Roma's eyes had never thrilled him that way; he had never wondered at her great beauty; he had never longed to take her in his arms and clasp her to his heart at first sight. This was love—real love, such as he had never felt for the proud beauty he had rashly promised to marry.
In that first hour of his meeting with Liane, he cursed himself for his madness in proposing to Roma.