“All this is very well conceived, no doubt,” said he, “and well executed. But it happens to be otiose.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you may set your mind at rest. I am not going to back out of my promise.”
Zuleika flushed. “You are cruel. I would give the world and all not to have written you that hateful letter. Forget it, forget it, for pity’s sake!”
The Duke looked searchingly at her. “You mean that you now wish to release me from my promise?”
“Release you? As if you were ever bound! Don’t torture me!”
He wondered what deep game she was playing. Very real, though, her anguish seemed; and, if real it was, then—he stared, he gasped—there could be but one explanation. He put it to her. “You love me?”
“With all my soul.”
His heart leapt. If she spoke truth, then indeed vengeance was his! But “What proof have I?” he asked her.
“Proof? Have men absolutely NO intuition? If you need proof, produce it. Where are my ear-rings?”