"Yes, I endured it. In the first place, I thought that it was my duty;
and in the second, it was not so hard until I had seen"--
"Well, until you had seen?"--
"Until I had seen you, I was going to say."
Berenice flushed, and tossed her head.
"You have caught a pretty trick of paying compliments, Mr. Wynne."
"No," he answered with gravity, "I have only the mistaken temerity to
say the truth."
She regarded him with a mocking light in her deep, velvety eyes.
"And is it the truth that you have given up your religion because you
have seen me?"
Maurice wondered afterward how he looked when she sped this shaft, for
he saw her shrink and pale. She even stammered some sort of an apology;
but he did not heed it. Although he was sure that he should sooner or
later have come to the same conclusion whether he had met Berenice or
not, he knew in his secret heart that there was in her words some savor
at least of truth. He felt their bitterness to his heart's core, and
could only stand speechless, reproaching her with his glance. If they
were true it was cruel for her to say them. He regarded her a moment,
and then turned toward the long French window by which they had come
out of the house.
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