“Oh—Oh—yes!”
“Then there were two before me?
“I—suppose so.”
“Now, don’t be a silly woman with your supposing—I hate all that,” said Knight contemptuously almost. “Well, we learn strange things. I don’t know what I might have done—no man can say into what shape circumstances may warp him—but I hardly think I should have had the conscience to accept the favours of a new lover whilst sitting over the poor remains of the old one; upon my soul, I don’t.” Knight, in moody meditation, continued looking towards the tomb, which stood staring them in the face like an avenging ghost.
“But you wrong me—Oh, so grievously!” she cried. “I did not meditate any such thing: believe me, Harry, I did not. It only happened so—quite of itself.”
“Well, I suppose you didn’t INTEND such a thing,” he said. “Nobody ever does,” he sadly continued.
“And him in the grave I never once loved.”
“I suppose the second lover and you, as you sat there, vowed to be faithful to each other for ever?”
Elfride only replied by quick heavy breaths, showing she was on the brink of a sob.
“You don’t choose to be anything but reserved, then?” he said imperatively.