Her beautiful hair in burnished glory round her face gleamed in the
firelight. Her white fingers clenched, her arms thrown back, her breast
panting beneath the lace, her proud face looking defiance into his--no
one but a prince could have braved this princess.
"What have I done?" she cried a second time. "I have only fought for
myself, and if I have won, so much the greater credit. I am your wife. I
have done nothing the law can touch. Thousands of women moving in our
circle are not half so good as I am. I swear before God I am----"
"Hush!" he said, with upraised hand. "I never doubted that."
"I will do any thing you wish," she went on, and in her humility she was
very dangerous. "I deceived you, I know. But I sold the Charity League
before I knew that you--that you thought of me. When I married you I
didn't love you. I admit that. But Paul--oh, Paul, if you were not so
good you would understand."
Perhaps he did understand; for there was that in her eyes that made her
meaning clear.
He was silent; standing before her in his great strength, his marvellous
and cruel self-restraint.
"You will not forgive me?"
For a moment she leaned forward, peering into his face. He seemed to be
reflecting.
"Yes," he said at length, "I forgive you. But if I cared for you,
forgiveness would be impossible.
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