But at Haggart it had been an impulse of temper, and he had
taken it seriously. How the wound had rankled, all the afternoon, while
she was chattering to the Royalties! And as she jumped on the pedestal,
and saw his face of horror, there was the typical womanish triumph that
she had made him
feel--would make him feel yet more.
How good, how tender he had been to her in her illness! And yet--yet?
"He cares for politics, for his plans--not for me. He will never trust
me again--as he did once. He'll never ask me to help him--he'll find
ways not to--though he'll be very sweet to me all the time."
And the thought of her nullity with him in the future, her
insignificance in his life, tortured her.
Why had she treated Lord Parham so? "I can be a lady when I choose," she
said, mockingly, to herself. "I wasn't even a lady."
Then suddenly there flashed on her memory a little picture of Lord
Parham, standing spectacled and bewildered, peering into her slip of
paper. She bent her head on her hands and laughed, a stifled, hysterical
laugh, which scandalized the woman kneeling beside her.
But the laugh was soon quenched again in restless pain.
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