Bothwell was silent. He had said all that could be said. He stood before Lady Valeria motionless, dumb, ready to bear the brunt of her anger and submit meekly to her reproaches, were they never so ungenerous. "Do you know what you have done for me?" she demanded passionately. "Do you know what you have cost me--you who pretended to be my slave, who pretended to worship me, and whose flimsy passion could not stand the wear and tear of three short years? You have blighted my life; you have ruined my good name." "That last charge cannot be true, Lady Valeria. You were much too careful of your reputation--you knew much too well how to keep your slave at a proper distance," answered Bothwell, with a touch of scorn. "But I did not know how to hide my love for you. There were eyes keen enough to read that. Do you know that my husband assaulted Sir George Varney in his own house on my account?" "Ah, then the story was true," muttered Bothwell. "You have heard about it, I see. Did you hear the nature of the insult which provoked that punishment?" "No." "It was the mention of your name--your name flung in my face like an accusation--cast at me as if my position were notorious--as if all society knew that I had been guilty of an intrigue." "Sir George is a blackguard, and no act of his would surprise me; but Sir George is not society. You need not be unhappy about any speech of his. If you want me to call him out, I am quite willing to go over to Blankenberghe and ask him to meet me there." "You know that such an act as that would intensify the scandal. No, Bothwell, there is only one way in which you can set me right, a year hence, when my year of widowhood is over, when I can marry again without disrespect to my husband's memory. That is the only way of setting me right with the world, Bothwell; and it is the only way of setting me right in my own self-esteem." "My dear Lady Valeria, I wonder that you have not learnt to understand society better--you, who are essentially a woman of society. Do you think the world would applaud you or respect you for making a very poor marriage--for uniting yourself to a man without pursuit or means or position? You, who with beauty, rank, and wealth, might marry almost any one you pleased. The world does not smile on such marriages, Lady Valeria. The world worships the star which mounts higher in the social firmament, not the star which bends earthward. You have your future before you, free and unfettered. You have wealth, which in this age means power. You can have nothing to regret in a foolish love of the past, love that drooped and died for want of a congenial atmosphere." "Is that your last word upon this subject?" asked Valeria, looking at him intently with those angry eyes. They were beautiful even in anger, those violet-dark eyes; but the light in them was a diabolical light, as of an evil spirit. "My very last."