She spoke in tones of pain, of tremulous tenderness; all her pride gone out of her. Lord Hartledon laid his hand upon her shoulder, meeting the dark eyes that were raised to his through tears.
"Do you indeed love me like this, Maude? Somehow I never thought it."
"I love you better than the whole world. I love you enough to give up everything for you."
The emphasis conveyed a reproach—that he did not "give up everything" for her. But Lord Hartledon kept his head for once.
"Heaven knows my bitter repentance. If I could repair this folly of mine by any sacrifice on my own part, I would gladly do it. Let me go, Maude! I have been here long enough, unless I were more worthy. I would ask you to forgive me if I knew how to frame the petition."
She released the hand of which she had made a prisoner—released it with a movement of petulance; and Lord Hartledon quitted the room, the words she had just spoken beating their refrain on his brain. It did not occur to him in his gratified vanity to remember that Anne Ashton, about whose love there could be no doubt, never avowed it in those pretty speeches.
"Well?" said Mr. Carr, when he got back to the dining-room.
"It is not well, Carr; it is ill. There can be no release. The old dowager won't have it."
"But surely you will not resign Miss Ashton for Lady Maude!" cried the barrister, after a pause of amazement.
"I resign both; I see that I cannot do anything else in honour. Excuse me, Carr, but I'd rather not say any more about it just now; I feel half maddened."