He laughed aloud a harsh, cruel laugh, saying—“You have already your freedom. I hope you are enjoying it. No doubt Armytage loves you, and London is a change after Tuscany.”
His laugh aroused within her a veritable tumult of hatred.
“You speak as if I were not an honest woman,” she cried, her eyes glistening. “Even you shall not brand me as an adventuress.”
“Well, I think your adventures in Florence and in Milan were curious enough,” he said, “even if we do not mention that night in Livorno when Vittorina—”
“Ah no!” she exclaimed, interrupting him. “Why should you cast that into my face? Now that we are friends no longer, you seek to heap disgrace upon me by recalling all that has gone by. In this conversation I have not sought to bring back to your memory any of the many recollections which must be painful. My object in coming to you is plain enough. I am perfectly straightforward—”
“For the first time in your life.”
She took no heed of his interruption, but went on saying—
“Charles Armytage has promised me marriage.”
“He’s a fool!” was the abrupt rejoinder. “When he knows the truth, he’ll hate you just as much as I do.”
“You certainly pay me delicate compliments,” she said, drawing herself up haughtily. “Your hatred is reciprocated, I assure you. But surely this is not a matter of either love or hatred between us. It is a mere arrangement for our mutual protection and benefit.”