‘Oh, Mabel, I am so sorry that it should be so.’

’I believe you are,—­with a sorrow that will last till she is again sitting close to you.  Nor, Silverbridge, do I wish it to be longer.  No;—­no;—­no.  Your fault after all has not been great.  You deceived, but did not mean to deceive me?’

‘Never, never.’

’And I fancy you have never known how much you bore about with you.  Your modesty has been so perfect that you have not thought of yourself as more than other men.  You have forgotten that you have had in your hand the disposal to some one woman of a throne in Paradise.’

‘I don’t suppose you thought of that.’

’But I did.  Why should I tell falsehoods now.  I have determined that you should know everything,—­but I could better confess to you my own sins, when I had shown that you too have not been innocent.  Not think of it!  Do not men think of high titles and great wealth and power and place?  And if men, why should not women?  Do not men try to get them;—­and are they not even applauded for their energy?  A woman has but one way to try.  I tried.’

‘I do not think it was well for that.’

’How shall I answer that without a confession which even I am not hardened enough to make?  In truth, Silverbridge, I have never loved you.’

He drew himself up slowly before he answered her, and gradually assumed a look very different from that easy boyish smile which was customary to him.  ‘I am glad of that,’ he said.

‘Why are you glad?’

‘Now I can have no regrets.’

’You need have none.  It was necessary to me that I should have my little triumph;—­that I should show you that I knew how far you had wronged me!  But now I wish you should know everything.  I have never loved you.’

‘There is an end of it then.’

’But I have liked you so well;—­so much better than all others!  A dozen men have asked me to marry them.  And though they might be nothing till they made the request, then they became,—­things of horror to me.  But you were not a thing of horror.  I could have become your wife, and I think I would have learned to love you.’

‘It is best as it is.’

’I ought to say so too; but I have a doubt I should have liked to be Duchess of Omnium, and perhaps I might have fitted the place better than one who can as yet know but little of its duties or its privileges.  I may, perhaps, think that that other arrangement would have been better even for you.’

‘I can take care of myself in that.’

’I should have married you without loving you, but I should have done so determined to serve you with a devotion which a woman who does love hardly thinks necessary.  I would have so done my duty that you should never have guessed that my heart had been in the keeping of another man.’

‘Another man!’

’Yes; of course.  If there had been no other man, why not you?  Am I so hard, do you think that I can love no one?  Are you not such a one that a girl would naturally love,—­were she not preoccupied?  That a woman should love seems as necessary as that a man should not.’