“He said ‘No;’ and from that moment I renounced you and your false love. I had only been in a whirl of jealousy and pride before.” “He said truly--Arthur Phillips said truly; but O, I loved you then, Amy, loved you still in my heart; and when I returned to England, ignorant of all the changes which had taken place, I came to throw myself at your feet.” Amy trembled as he spoke, trembled at the thoughts of the happiness there would have been in this; but respect for herself, gratitude to her lord, womanly, wifely pride stepped in and restored her former self-command. “And what _did_ you say then to Arthur Phillips?” asked the Countess. “I thought you cared more for my position, for my presumed wealth and prospects, than for myself alone,” said Lionel. “Why did you interfere in my private affairs? why make those inquiries concerning my relationship with Richard Tallant, or my doings at the Ashford Club?” “It brooks little now how much I loved you, Lionel; and an explanation of my motives can do no good, seeing that neither of us can restore the past; but Heaven knows I grieved that your station was so much higher than that of the girl who loved you so well. And still I could not bear to see you fall, to hear of your noble nature lowering itself to the level of the base and the mean, to have it sullied by contact with gamblers, and----” “There was no thought of self in this? no jealous watching over my expenditure? no worldly speculations of the future?” said Lionel, hurriedly interrupting her. “For shame!” exclaimed the Countess, rising; “for shame! If this is how you interpreted my weak conduct--if this is how you estimated the homage of my poor girlish heart--thank God, Lionel Hammerton, you and I _are_ parted for ever! Had my love been blessed with your acceptance, this discovery would have been like a curse upon it--it would have broken my heart.” Lionel bowed his head before this storm of womanly indignation.