“Of course, there is no love-making,” said Aubrey, lazily letting fall his newspaper, and pushing his hands through his bright hair. He was a sight for gods and men. His handsome figure outlined against the sky, as he stood by the window in an attitude of listless grace, his finely-cut face, so rich in color and the charm of varying expression, turned indolently toward the two women to whom the morning mail had brought its offering.
“Have you ever read one of Reuel’s letters?” Dianthe said, quietly. “You may see this if you like.” A tap sounded on the door.
“Miss Molly, if you please, the dress-maker has sent the things.”
“Oh, thank you, Jennie, I’ll come at once!” and gathering up her letters, Molly ran off with a smile and a nod of apology.
Aubrey stood by the window reading Reuel’s letter. His face was deadly white, and his breath came quick and short. He read half the page; then crushed it in his hand and crossed the room to Dianthe. She, too, was pale and there was something akin to fear in the gaze that she lifted to his face.
“How dare you?” he asked breathlessly; “but you are a woman! Not one of you has any delicacy in her heart! Not one!”
He tore the letter across and flung it from him.
“I do not suffer enough,” he said in a suffocated voice. “You taunt me with this view of conjugal happiness—with his right to love and care for you.”
“I did not do it to hurt you,” she answered. “Do you have no thought for Molly’s sufferings if I succumb to your threats of exposure and weakly allow myself to be frightened into committing the great wrong you contemplate toward two true-hearted people? I thought you could realize if you could know how Reuel loves and trusts me, and how true and noble is his nature.”
“Do you think I have room to pity Reuel—Molly—while my own pain is more than I can bear? Without you my ambition is destroyed, my hope for the future—my life is ruined.”