"
She laughed hardly.
"You think so? Well, I don't want Emily to see my hollow cheeks--or
you! Are you satisfied, Wingrave?"
"I am afraid I don't understand--" he began.
"Don't lie," she interrupted curtly. "You do understand. This is your
vengeance--very subtle and very crafty. Everything has turned out
exactly as you planned. You have broken us, Wingrave! I thought myself
a clever woman, but I might as well have tried to gamble with the
angels. Why don't you finish it off now--make me run away with you?"
"It would bore us both," he answered calmly. "Besides, you wouldn't
come!"
"I should, and you know that I would," she answered. "Everyone expects
it of us. I think myself that it would be more decent."
He looked at her thoughtfully.
"You are a strange woman," he said. "I find it hard sometimes to
understand you."
"Then you are a fool," she declared in a fierce little whisper. "You
know what is underneath all my suffering, all my broken pride! You
know that I was fool enough to keep the flame flickering--that I have
cared always and for no one else!"
He stopped the carriage.
"You are the most original woman I ever met," he said quietly. "I
neither wish to care nor be cared for by anyone. Go home to your
husband, and tell him to buy Treadwells up to six."
That same afternoon Wingrave met Aynesworth and cut him dead.
Something in the younger man's appearance, though, perplexed him.
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