Mrs. Howard’s lip curled contemptuously as she answered:
“You need not look so frightened. Your husband does not contemplate any further violence. He would not have attempted any last night only that he had been led to believe you a wicked woman. Since I have taken pains to disabuse his mind of that erroneous impression, he regrets his actions of last night, and declares that he is ready and anxious to forgive the past and make up his quarrel with you.”
But the wretched girl only cowered in more abject terror at those words, moaning out:
“Oh, I wish you had let him go on thinking me wicked! I do not want to make up my quarrel with him. I had rather have his hate than his love.”
“Was this acting?” Mrs. Howard asked herself. If so, it was very clever indeed, and the lady scarce knew what to say in answer.
But she remembered that the impetuous husband was waiting most impatiently to hear from Fair, so she said curtly:
“You are talking wicked nonsense, Fair, and you will find that Prince Gonzaga is determined to enforce your wifely obedience. So you had better make up your mind to live with him, and to be thankful that he is willing to forgive your past bad conduct.”
She felt that she ought to say these precise words to the girl, yet she felt abashed somehow by the big, pathetic eyes Fair fixed on her face. She had stopped weeping, and her tearless misery was far more pitiful, as she faltered:
“I will never live with him! He was the cause of my mother’s death. Her grave lies between us.”
“He has explained all that to me. It is nonsense to accuse him of that. She had heart disease, and her death was liable to occur at any time,” Mrs. Howard returned coldly.