"You probably didn't say it that way," he commented, amused.
"I did."
"How much of that sort of thing is he prepared to stand?" asked Siward curiously.
"How much? I don't know. I don't believe he cares. It is my uncle, Major Belwether, who is making things unpleasant for me. I had to tell Howard, you know."
"What!" exclaimed Siward incredulously.
"Certainly. Do you think my conduct has passed without protest?"
"You told Quarrier!" he repeated.
"Did you imagine I could do otherwise?" she asked coolly. "I have that much decency left. Certainly I told him. Do you suppose that, after what we did--what I admitted to you--that I could meet him as usual? Do you think I am afraid of him?"
"I thought you were afraid of losing him," muttered Siward.
"I was, dreadfully. And the morning after you and I had been imprudent enough to sit up until nearly daylight--and do what we did--I made him take a long walk with me, and I told him plainly that I cared for you, that I was too selfish and cowardly to marry you, and that if he couldn't endure the news he was at liberty to terminate the engagement without notice."
"What did he say?" stammered Siward.
"A number of practical things."
"You mean to say he stands it!"
"It appears so. What else is there for him to do, unless he breaks the engagement?"
"And he--hasn't?"
"No. I was informed that he held me strictly and precisely to my promise; that he would never release me voluntarily, though I was, of course, at liberty to do what I chose. … My poor friend, he cares no more for love than do I. I happen to be the one woman in New York whom he considers absolutely suitable for him; by race, by breeding, by virtue of appearance and presence, eminently fitted to complete the material portion of his fortune and estate."
Her voice had hardened as she spoke; now it rang a little at the end, and she laughed unpleasantly.
"It appears that I was a little truer to myself than you gave me credit for--a little truer to you--a little less treacherous, less shameless, than you must have thought me. But I have gone to my limit of decency; … and, were I ten times more in love with you than I am, I could not put away the position and power offered me. But I will not lie for it, nor betray for it. … Do you remember, once you asked me for what reasons I dropped men from my list? And I told you, because of any falsehood or treachery, any betrayal of trust--and for no other reason. You remember? And did you suppose that elemental standard of decency did not include women--even such a woman as I?"