‘Not one common word of explanation?’ he implored. ‘Don’t think I am bad enough to try to lead you astray. Well, go—it is better.’
Their eyes met again. She was nearly choked. O, how she longed—and dreaded—to hear his explanation!
‘What is it?’ she said desperately.
‘It is that I did not come to the church this morning in order to distress you: I did not, Cytherea. It was to try to speak to you before you were—married.’
He stepped closer, and went on, ‘You know what has taken place? Surely you do?—my cousin is married, and I am free.’
‘Married—and not to you?’ Cytherea faltered, in a weak whisper.
‘Yes, she was married yesterday! A rich man had appeared, and she jilted me. She said she never would have jilted a stranger, but that by jilting me, she only exercised the right everybody has of snubbing their own relations. But that’s nothing now. I came to you to ask once more if.... But I was too late.’
‘But, Edward, what’s that, what’s that!’ she cried, in an agony of reproach. ‘Why did you leave me to return to her? Why did you write me that cruel, cruel letter that nearly killed me!’
‘Cytherea! Why, you had grown to love—like—Mr. Manston, and how could you be anything to me—or care for me? Surely I acted naturally?’
‘O no—never! I loved you—only you—not him—always you!—till lately.... I try to love him now.’