"Not like him. If you had had any eyes as Val Elster, you'd have seen
whether she liked him or not. She was dying for him--not for you."
He made no reply. It was only what he had suspected, in a half-doubting
sort of way, at the time. A little spaniel, belonging to one of the
gardeners, ran up and licked his hand.
"The time that I had of it!" continued the dowager. "But for me, Maude
never would have been forced into having you. And she _shouldn't_ have
had you if I'd thought you were going to turn out like this."
He wheeled round and faced her; his pale face working with emotion, but
his voice subdued to calmness. Lady Kirton's last words halted, for his
look startled even her in its resolute sternness.
"To what end are you saying this, madam? You know perfectly well that
you almost moved heaven and earth to get me: _you_, I say; I prefer to
leave my wife's name out of this: and I fell into the snare. I have not
complained of my bargain; so far as I know, Maude has not done so: but
if it be otherwise--if she and you repent of the union, I am willing to
dissolve it, as far as it can be dissolved, and to institute measures for
living apart."
Never, never had she suspected it would come to this. She sat staring at
him, her eyes round, her mouth open: scarcely believing the calm resolute
man before her could be the once vacillating Val Elster.
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