She laid a hand on his. "I did not read them, Harry," she urged.
He smiled and patted her arm. "There, there, it doesn't matter," he
laughed. He watched her narrowly. "It matters greatly," she answered
gently, though his words had cut her like a knife. "I did not read the
papers. I only saw the word 'Cyprus' on the first paper, and I pushed it
over the paper which had the word 'Egypt' on it 'Egypt' and 'Claridge,'
lest I should read it. I did not wish to read it. I am not dishonourable,
Harry."
He had hurt her more than he had ever done; and only the great matter at
stake had prevented the lesser part of her from bursting forth in
indignation, from saying things which she did not wish to say. She had
given him devotion--such devotion, such self-effacement in his career as
few women ever gave. Her wealth--that was so little in comparison with
the richness of her nature--had been his; and yet his vast egotism took
it all as his right, and she was repaid in a kind of tyranny, the more
galling and cruel because it was wielded by a man of intellect and
culture, and ancient name and tradition.
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