Othmar

by Ouida

'I hope I should forgive it with my reason, which would understand and so excuse it, though my feminine weaknesses might perhaps resent it; one never knows one's own foibles.'

'It is only indifference which forgives inconstancy.'

'Oh—h—h! I am not sure of that. There may be indulgence without indifference.'

'But not without contempt.'

'I do not know that. Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner. I have so very slight an opinion of human nature that I do not think I could ever be seriously angry with any of its errors.'

'Then that would be because none of them had power to reach your heart. I do not believe you would care for anyone sufficiently ever to be jealous of them.'

She smiled and rose. 'My dear Otho, jealousy is a very ugly, useless, and unwise passion. The world decided, as soon as ever I was presented to it, that I had no such thing as a heart. You have always persisted in supposing that I have, but very likely the world is more right than you.'

'May I not hope at least that I have a place in it?' murmured Othmar, and he bent towards her with much of a lover's ardour.

But she drew herself away with a touch of that dullness by which she had used to freeze the blood in Napraxine's veins.