"
"I--I do not believe it," sobbed his wife.
"That is at your option," he replied coolly. "Miss Charteris, I
should kneel to ask your pardon for the insults you have
received. If a man had uttered them, I would avenge them. The
woman who spoke them bears my name. I entreat your pardon."
"It is granted," she replied; "your wife must have been mad, or
she would have known I was her friend. I deeply regret that my
good intentions have resulted so unhappily. Forget my annoyance,
Mr. Earle, and forgive Dora; she could not have known what she
was saying."
"I forgive her," said Ronald; "but I never wish to look upon her
face again. I see nothing but dishonor there. My love died a
violent death ten minutes since. The woman so dead to all
delicacy, all honor as to listen and suspect will never more be
wife of mine."
"Be pitiful," said Valentine, for Dora was weeping bitterly now;
all her fire and passion, all her angry jealousy, had faded
before his wrath.
"I am pitiful," he replied. "Heaven knows I pity her. I pity
myself. We Earles love honorable women when we love at all.
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