The pride and anger on the lovely face before him softened strangely.
"That is true, I had quite forgotten it," she said. "But then your rudeness in striking the glass from my hand—how do you account for that? What did you mean by it?"
Her beautiful eyes were looking straight into his—the dusky, pansy-blue eyes of the lost bride whom he had worshiped so madly.
His reason seemed to reel before that wonderful resemblance, his heart was on fire with the passion she roused within him; yet through it all he had a vague feeling that he must shield Sydney, that he must not betray her to the beautiful woman whom she had wronged.
His dark eyes fell before her steady gaze, his cheek reddened, his tongue felt thick when he tried to speak.
Sydney's heart was beating almost to suffocation, while he stood thus hesitating. She knew when he struck the glass from Queenie's hand that he had witnessed her dastardly crime.
She wondered if his mad passion for the beautiful actress would lead him to betray her—his wife!
In her terror and desperation she grasped his arm and looked up pleadingly into his face.
Captain Ernscliffe looked down at her—oh! the withering scorn, the just horror of that look.