THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
time, I do not believe you. I would not believe you if you gave me your oath.”
Ferrers said nothing, but the curl of his lips told the volume of his pleasure.
They were dreadful words to Mornay, but he looked at her with a calmness that gave no sign of hidden discomfiture. His eyes did not drop under her lashing sneers. Instead, as she paused he began speaking, with a quiet insistence in which there was the least touch of patronage.
“Madame, hear me out, I pray you. I have come brutally into your house. I have been the bully with you and yours. I have held you prisoner. To ask your pardon would be still further to insult you. But I leave London to-night and—” As Ferrers interposed, he raised his hand. “Pardon, monsieur, a moment and I have done. I leave London to-night, and I shall not trouble you more.”
“Thank God for that!” she said, bitterly.
Mornay continued as though he did not hear her: “I have broken in upon you because it was the only way that I could see you—the only way
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