Annette’s first words fell like ice on his burning heart:
“What is to be gained by telling poor Daisie the truth? She is already Royall Sherwood’s wife. Nothing can alter that.”
It was true, and the realization of it forced a stifled groan from his pallid lips.
The majority of people thought that Annette Janowitz was only a pretty, frivolous girl, with not an idea in her head beyond dressing and flirting; but she showed herself to be very sensible in her advice to the angry lover.
Still grasping him lest he should escape her, she continued eagerly:
“I want you to consider Daisie now, and not yourself. She believes now that you are a wretch, unworthy her love and confidence.”
“She shall not think so long!” he groaned.
“But yes, she shall; for, Lord Werter, it would but make our poor Daisie more unhappy to tell her the truth.”
He did not answer, only looked incredulous, and she hurried on:
“I will tell you the truth, for it is your due. Daisie is bitterly unhappy—yes, I know it, for I am her confidante—and her only comfort is in feeling that she acted for the best in everything; that she saved Royall’s life by staying with him, and that she had a lucky escape in not marrying such a wretch as you are supposed to be.”