There could be no doubt on that head.
What should she do with him? Could she buy him off? Would money
purchase her freedom? Remembering his pride and his love, she
thought not. Should she appeal to his pity--tell him all her
heart and life were centered in Lord Airlie? Should she appeal
to his love for pity's sake?
Remembering his passionate words, she knew it would be useless.
Had she but been married before he returned--were she but Lady
Airlie of Lynnton--he could not have harmed her. Was the man
mad to think he could win her--she who had had some of the most
noble-born men in England at her feet? Did he think she would
exchange her grand old name for his obscure one--her
magnificence for his poverty.
There was no more time for thought; the dinner bell had sounded
for the last time, and she must descend. She thrust the letter
hastily into a drawer, and locked it, and then turned to her
mirror. She was startled at the change. Surely that pale face,
with its quivering lips and shadowed eyes could not be hers.
What should she do to drive away the startled fear, the vague
dread, the deadly pallor? The roses she wore were but a ghastly
contrast.
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