“He must be a saint, or a devil, for you know wicked men win women.”
“Yes, I have had a very sad experience in that respect.”
“But continue, please, with your description of your hero.”
“There is little more to say other than that he has rank, is brilliant, fascinating, and rich, so the idea of your sister’s riches would not have influence with him.”
“Who is this paragon?”
“The man I love.”
“This from a wife to a husband?”
“Why not, from an outraged wife to a demon husband who has turned the purest love into the bitterest hate? Yes, I do love him, and when I saw that he loved your sister then I decided, especially as I had another reason, that I would not raise a hand to save your neck.”
“Who is this man?”
“One who has a sentiment. Years ago, when a young cadet, he saw a portrait in an art-gallery of a face he became fascinated with. That portrait had been painted by a young artist of his lady-love, one whom he hopelessly loved, so the story went.