I always had the germs
of it."
"You were always the best and dearest woman in the world," I
cried.
"And I betrayed you, dear. That letter from Pasquale told me
about his flight with Carlotta. I lied to you--but I was in a
state bordering on madness."
I rested my elbow on the mantel-piece and looked down on her.
She appeared so sweet and fragile, like a piece of Dresden china,
incapable of base actions. As I did not speak she went on:
"I did not mean to play into Pasquale's hands, Marcus. Heaven
knows I didn't--but I did play into them. Do you remember that
awful night and our talk the next morning? I asked you not to
see her all day--to mourn our dead love. I knew you would keep
your promise. You are a man of sensitive honour. If all men
were like you, the world would be a beautiful place."
"It would go to smash in a few weeks through universal
incompetence," I murmured, with some bitterness.
"There would be no meanness and treachery and despicable
underhand doings. Marcus, you must forgive me--I was a desperate
woman fighting for my life's happiness.
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