“Well?” said Lady Loring, as they sat together over the fire. “What did he say?”
Stella only repeated what he had said before she rose and left him. “What is there in Mr. Romayne’s life,” she asked, “which made him say that he would be selfish and cruel if he expected a woman to marry him? It must be something more than mere illness. If he had committed a crime he could not have spoken more strongly. Do you know what it is?”
Lady Loring looked uneasy. “I promised my husband to keep it a secret from everybody,” she said.
“It is nothing degrading, Adelaide—I am sure of that.”
“And you are right, my dear. I can understand that he has surprised and disappointed you; but, if you knew his motives—” she stopped and looked earnestly at Stella. “They say,” she went on, “the love that lasts longest is the love of slowest growth. This feeling of yours for Romayne is of sudden growth. Are you very sure that your whole heart is given to a man of whom you know little?”
“I know that I love him,” said Stella simply.
“Even though he doesn’t seem as yet to love you?” Lady Loring asked.
“All the more because he doesn’t. I should be ashamed to make the confession to any one but you. It is useless to say any more. Good-night.”
Lady Loring allowed her to get as far as the door, and then suddenly called her back. Stella returned unwillingly and wearily. “My head aches and my heart aches,” she said. “Let me go away to my bed.”
“I don’t like you to go away, wronging Romayne perhaps in your thoughts,” said Lady Loring. “And, more than that, for the sake of your own happiness, you ought to judge for yourself if this devoted love of yours may ever hope to win its reward. It is time, and more than time, that you should decide whether it is good for you to see Romayne again. Have you courage enough to do that?”