Treherne disliked the look, and rather abruptly said, as he offered her
the basket of bread, "I have disposed of my cousin, and offered to do
the honors of the peacocks. Here they are--will you feed them?"
"No, thank you--I care nothing for the fowls, as you know; I came to
speak to you," she said impatiently.
"I am at your service."
"I wish to ask you a question or two--is it permitted?"
"What man ever refused Mrs. Snowdon a request?"
"Nay, no compliments; from you they are only satirical evasions. I was
deceived when abroad, and rashly married that old man. Tell me truly how
things stand."
"Jasper has all. I have nothing."
"I am glad of it."
"Many thanks for the hearty speech. You at least speak sincerely," he
said bitterly.
"I do, Maurice--I do; let me prove it."
Treherne's chair was close beside the balustrade. Mrs. Snowdon leaned on
the carved railing, with her back to the house and her face screened by
a tall urn. Looking steadily at him, she said rapidly and low, "You
thought I wavered between you and Jasper, when we parted two years ago.
I did; but it was not between title and fortune that I hesitated. It was
between duty and love. My father, a fond, foolish old man, had set his
heart on seeing me a lady.
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