He looked down at her suspiciously, without stirring from the spot.
"Sydney, if indeed I am mistaken," he said, "why are you here? If this lady is not your sister, what have you to do with her? Why," he lowered his voice slightly, "why did you seek to remove her from your path?"
Sydney dropped her eyes and turned crimson.
"Oh, Lawrence," she said, "she is not my sister, but she is my rival. I know all that passed last night, I know that she has won your heart from me."
"It was never yours, Sydney," he answered firmly. "I married you because you loved me, and were unhappy without me; but you never held my heart. I have never loved but one woman on earth. I told you that before I made you my wife."
The listener's heart gave one great bound of joy. He loved her still—he had never loved but her. Why should she sacrifice herself and him for the doubtful good of Sydney's happiness?
A great wave of pity for herself and for her true, loyal husband swept over her heart.
She made a quick step toward him as if to throw herself upon his breast, then shrank back into herself, deterred by the agonised appeal in the eyes of Sydney, who seemed to divine her purpose.
"Oh! Lawrence," entreated Sydney, "pray go away from here. Madame De Lisle grows impatient."
The actress swept across the room, turned the handle of the door, and held it open.