n that you loved me since
this--angel--has been your wife?" Looking back as well as he could, he
rather thought that he never had sworn that he loved her in these
latter days. She had often bidden him to do so; but as far as he could
recollect at the moment, he had escaped the absolute utterance of the
oath by some subterfuge. But doubtless he had done that which had been
tantamount to swearing; and, at any rate, he could not now say that he
had never sworn. "Now you come to tell me that it must all be
forgotten! Was it she taught you that word?"

"If you upbraid me I will go away."

"Go, sir,--if you dare. You first betray me to your wife by your
egregious folly, and then tell me that you will leave me because I have
a word to say for myself. Oh, George, I expected more tenderness than
that from you."

"There is no use in being tender. It can only produce misery and
destruction."

"Well; of all the cold-blooded speeches I ever heard, that is the
worst. After all that has passed between us, you do not scruple to tell
me that you cannot even express tenderness for me, lest it should bring
you into trouble! Men have felt that before, I do not doubt; but I
hardly think any man was ever hard enough to make such a speech. I
wonder whether Captain De Baron is so considerate."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You come here and talk to me about your angel, and then tell me that
you cannot show me even the slightest tenderness, lest it should make
you miserable,--and you expect me to hold my tongue."

"I don't know why you should mention Captain De Baron."

"I'll tell you why, Lord George. There are five or six of us playing
this little comedy. Mr. Houghton and I are married, but we have not
very much to say to each other. It is the same with you and Mary."

"I deny it."

"I daresay; but at the same time you know it to be true. She consoles
herself with Captain De Baron. With whom Mr. Houghton consoles himself
I have never taken the trouble to enquire. I hope someone is
good-natured to him, poor old soul. Then, as to you and me,--you used,
I think, to get consolation here. But such comforts cost trouble, and
you hate trouble." As she said this, she wound her arm inside his; and
he, angry as he was with her for speaking as she had done of his wife,
could not push her from him roughly. "Is not that how it is, George?"

"No?"

"Then I don't think you understand the play as well as I do."

"No! I deny it all."

"All