“Ah, how lovely you are, my fair bride, among these congenial surroundings!” he continued, his eyes gloating on her lovely face and form, set off so exquisitely by the white silk robe.
“A truce to compliments, sir,” Violet answered, coldly, and he started with surprise.
He had expected tears, upbraiding hysterics, and threats from the lovely girl he had tricked into becoming his wife.
Yet how calmly she spoke!
Was it possible she was going to take it coolly, after all—to resign herself to the inevitable?
He devoutly hoped so, and with a smile he answered:
“I can no more help telling you of your beauty, Violet, than I can help breathing. You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and I rejoice that you are my bride!”
He saw a spasm of despair move the beautiful face and added, quickly:
“Ah, my adored one, forgive me for the treachery that won you! Think how I love you, remember how rich I am and what a luxurious life you can have as my wife. Can I not teach you to forget my rival, and to love me?”
He threw himself at her feet, and was proceeding with his passionate protestations, but, with a queenly gesture, she interrupted him: