And she must be beautiful, or Jack wouldn't speak of her as
he had. He hushed his voice down, he spoke as if she were a goddess, as if
to disobey her call was out of the question. A dull heat stirred deeply
within her, and she found herself setting her teeth together. No! Jack had
brought her to this pass--and she would not be left there.
These were the thoughts of Mrs. Germain as she sat very still, with heavy-
lidded eyes, listening to Senhouse's story. He ended it in these words:
"You charmed me, Mary, and you still charm me. You are very sweet, and I
shall never want a dearer mate than you might be, if you would. I vow to
you that you are the only woman with whom I have wished to live, as we
might live if you would. I can't make you see, I'm conscious, what I feel
about Sanchia--but it's certainly not that. My little dear, can't you
trust me?" He looked down, and saw her tears slowly dropping; he was very
much moved, knelt by her side. She turned her face away, dangerously moved
also. She struggled with her tears, her face contorted, her bosom heaving
in riot. Senhouse took her hands, but she wrenched them away and covered
her face with them. Passion grew upon her, passion of regret, of loss, of
rage, of desire--"Oh, leave me, leave me! Oh, cruel, cruel! No man in the
world could be so cruel--" and then she sprang up, and faced him, flushed
and fierce as a woman whom love has made mad.
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