“Lay the blame on me!” she cried defiantly. “If you heard all, as you say, you know that he was not in the plot, that it was mine alone—all the fault mine. I dare say you would like to forsake poor Royall and run after Lord Werter now, but you cannot do it, for you stayed with my cousin of your own free will, and you cannot leave him now.”
“Hush!” breathed Royall hoarsely; and Daisie turned from her with a glance of contempt.
She looked at Royall, and said gently:
“I have nothing but contempt and hatred for this woman, but you I pity.”
“Only pity!” he groaned; but she continued:
“You know I never professed anything but pity for you. My love was given elsewhere before I was drawn into that mockery of a marriage that chained me, an unloving wife, to your side.”
She paused, drew a long, quivering breath, and continued:
“You know I have tried to do my duty by you—that I will still try.”
“Yes, yes,” he cried, in a tone of infinite relief. He had feared that she meant to apply for a divorce, and in the madness of his love he was too selfish to bear such a suggestion. “You would not leave me, Daisie—ill and crippled? It would be heartless!” he cried weakly, in his agitation.
All his pity was for himself—none for her, so beautiful, so helpless, so cruelly wronged by every additional hour of this bondage of a loveless marriage.