She faced him, humbled, shaken with sobs which she would not allow to come, and stared at Basil with eyes preternaturally large.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it,” she cried hoarsely. “But I wouldn’t believe it. When I’ve put my hand on your shoulder I’ve seen that you could hardly help shuddering; and sometimes when I’ve kissed you I’ve seen you put out all your strength to prevent yourself from pushing me away.”
After all, he was tender-hearted, and now that his first anger was gone could not help being touched by the dreadful anguish of her tone.
“Jenny, I can’t help it if I don’t love you. I can’t help it if I—if I love someone else.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked, dazed and cowed.
“I’m going away.”
“Where?”
“God knows!”
They stood for a while in silence, while Jenny sought to collect and order her thoughts, which throbbed horribly in her brain, like raving maniacs dancing some tumultuous, distracted measure. The butler came in softly and handed a note to Basil, saying that Mrs. Murray had ordered him to bring it. Basil did not open this till the servant was gone, and then, having read, gave it without a word to Jenny.
“You may tell your wife that I’ve made up my mind to marry Mr. Farley, I will never see you again.—H. M.”