"I do not understand you," she says proudly.

"Then you shall," responds Dynecourt. "Do you think I am blind, that I
can not see how you have given your proud heart to my cousin, that he
has conquered where other men have failed; that, even before he has
declared any love for you, you have, in spite of your pride, given all
your affection to him?"

"You insult me," cries Florence, with quivering lips. She looks faint,
and is trembling visibly. If this man has read her heart aright, may
not all the guests have read it too? May not even Adrian himself have
discovered her secret passion, and perhaps despised her for it, as being
unwomanly?

"And more," goes on Dynecourt, exulting in the torture he can see he is
inflicting; "though you thrust from you an honorable love for one that
lives only in your imagination, I will tell you that Sir Adrian has
other views, other intentions. I have reason to know that, when he
marries, the name of his bride will not be Florence Delmaine."

"Leave me, sir," cries Florence, rousing herself from her momentary
weakness, and speaking with all her old fire, "and never presume to
address me again. Go!"

She points with extended hand to the door at the lower end of the
gallery. So standing, with her eyes strangely bright, and her perfect
figure drawn up to its fullest height, she looks superb in her
disdainful beauty.

Dynecourt, losing his self-possession as he gazes upon her, suddenly