"Indeed? Was any one else there? Answer me, mademoiselle."
Julie hesitated again, and again spoke with a kind of passionate composure.
"Yes. Mr. Delafield was there."
"So I supposed. Allow me to assure you, mademoiselle"--Lady Henry rose from her seat, leaning on her stick; surely no old face was ever more formidable, more withering--"that whatever ambitions you may cherish, Jacob Delafield is not altogether the simpleton you imagine. I know him better than you. He will take some time before he really makes up his mind to marry a woman of your disposition--and your history."
Julie Le Breton also rose.
"I am afraid, Lady Henry, that here, too, you are in the dark," she said, quietly, though her thin arm shook against her dress. "I shall not marry Mr. Delafield. But it is because--I have refused him twice."
Lady Henry gasped. She fell back into her chair, staring at her companion.
"You have--refused him?"
"A month ago, and last year. It is horrid of me to say a word. But you forced me."
Julie was now leaning, to support herself, on the back of an old French chair. Feeling and excitement had blanched her no less than Lady Henry, but her fine head and delicate form breathed a will so proud, a dignity so passionate, that Lady Henry shrank before her.