"You will think better of it; believe me, you have no truer friends than
Clare and myself."

"If I ask for bread and you give me a stone, is that anything to make me
grateful? But I declare to you, Sir Edgar Trevelyan, that you have
slain me; you have slain the womanhood in me tonight by the most cruel
blow!"

She looked so wild, so white, so despairing, I went up to her.

"Coralie," I said, "forget all this nonsense and be your own bright self
again."

"My own bright self will never live again; a man's scorn has killed me."

Suddenly, before I knew what she was doing, she had flung herself in a
fearful passion of tears in my arms. She was sobbing with her face close
to mine and her hot hands clinging to me.

"With it all, Edgar, she does not love you; she loved Miles; she loves
Crown Anstey, and not you. Forget her, dear; give her up. I love you.
She is cold and formal and prudish; she is not capable of loving you as
I do. She loves your fortune, not you, and I--oh, I would die if you bid
me! Give her up, Edgar, and love me!"

When the passionate outburst of tears had had full vent, I unclasped her
arms and placed her in a chair.

"Let us talk reasonably, Coralie. You ask me what is impossible. I shall
never, with life, give up my engagement to Miss Thesiger."