"My birth was respectable, my education the best my country afforded," said the girl, with white lips. "Had you no intention of marrying me when you enticed me from my home to cross the ocean with you?"
"No."
The monosyllable seemed to fall like a heavy blow upon the girl's heart, for she shivered, and her face was distorted with agony.
"Oh, had you no heart? Why did you do such a fiendish thing?" she cried.
"Because you were pretty and agreeable, and I liked pleasant company. I have been accustomed to have whatever I wished for all my life."
"And you never loved me?"
"Oh, yes, for nearly three years I was quite fond of you—really, Giulia, I consider that I have been as faithful to you as you could expect."
"Oh, wretch! but you love this other girl more?"
"It would be worse than useless to attempt to deceive you on that point," said the man, his whole face softening at this mention of Edith.
"You lied to me, then, Emil Correlli!" cried the miserable woman, hoarsely; "you swore to me that the girl was nothing to you—that she was simply your sister's companion."