He raged up and down the floor, his eyes blazing with insulted pride.
Though he had destroyed the letter, he could see in his mind’s eye every offensive word standing out clearly, as though traced with a pen of fire.
He muttered in savage wrath, blended with wounded pride:
“Such cruel epithets—‘this nobody’—‘this scheming adventuress’—‘some second-rate actress’—‘such a creature’—oh, shame! that my lovely, innocent, pure-minded Floy should be insulted thus! Well, I will show them how I will come to my senses!”
He threw himself down at a table with his face on his arm, his broad shoulders heaving with emotion.
Long minutes passed while he fought the battle between filial duty and affection and the strong love of his life—strong and eternal, though such a short time ago he had not seen her face nor heard her name.
Love had passed over his soul like a torrent, bearing everything before it. To some deep natures love comes like this, and then it is either a tragedy of pain or a heaven of bliss.
“Love scorns degrees. The low he lifteth high;
The high he draweth down to that fair plane
Whereon, in his divine equality,