Sylvia shook her head. She was angry — more hurt and angry than she had ever felt before in her life. She told herself passionately that the Comte de Virieu was refusing that which had not been offered to him.
"You are very kind," she answered, lightly. "But I have managed very well up to now, and I think I shall go on managing very well. You need not trouble yourself about the matter, Count Paul. Mr. Chester and I thoroughly understand one another —" She waited, and gently she added, "I wish I could understand you"
"I wish I understood myself," he said sombrely. "But there is one thing that I believe myself incapable of doing. Whatever my feeling, nay, whatever my love, for a woman, I would never do so infamous a thing as to try and persuade her to join her life to mine. I know too well to what I should be exposing her — to what possible misery, nay, to what probable degradation! After all, a man is free to go to the devil alone — but he has no right to drag a woman there with him!"
His voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper, and he was gazing into Sylvia's pale face with an anguished look of questioning and of pleading pain.
"I think that is true, Count Paul." Sylvia heard herself uttering gently, composedly, the words which meant at once so much and so little to them both. "It is a pity that all men do not feel about this as you do," she concluded mechanically.
"I felt sure you would agree with me," he answered slowly.
"Ought we not to be going back to the villa? I am expecting Mr. Chester to lunch, and though I know it is
