“I believe only what I have seen with my own eyes,” he answered rather ambiguously. “You have been indiscreet—extremely indiscreet—and I have often told you so. But your ambition was to become the most chic woman in town, and you have accomplished it. At what cost?”
She made no response. Her head was bowed.
“Shall I tell you at what cost?” he went on very gravely. “At the cost of your reputation—and of mine.”
“Ah! forgive me, Dudley!” she cried quickly. “I was blind then, dazzled by the compliments heaped upon me, bewildered by the wealth that had so suddenly become mine after poor Dick’s death. I was rendered callous to everything by my foolish desire to shine as the smartest and most popular woman in London. I did not think of you.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Your admission only clinches my argument that, although we have been close friends, no real affection has of later years existed between us. Frankly, had you loved me, you could not have acted with such reckless indiscretion as to risk my name, my position, and my honour.”
He spoke a truth which admitted of no question.
“Now,” he went on at last, slowly unclasping her clinging arms from his neck. “It is already late and I have an important appointment at the Foreign Office, for which I am overdue. We must part.”
“Never!” she cried wildly. “You shall not leave me like this! If you do, I shall call at your chambers every day, and compel you to see me.”
“Then I must give orders to Parsons not to admit you,” he answered quite calmly.
“That man of yours is an old bear. Why don’t you get rid of him, and have some one less fossilised?” she exclaimed in a gust of fury. “When I called the other day with Lady Meldrum, he was positively rude.”