There was silence after she had spoken. Lord Quenby turned his back for a moment and stood looking down into the flames.
And then suddenly he turned again and, crossing the hearthrug, sat down on the sofa beside Gisela.
“Forgive me,” he said. “It came to me in that moment that whatever I might feel, whatever I might say, Imry loved you. There must be something good and sweet within you to have inspired his love. Everything that was dross, cheap and vulgar seemed to fall into its right perspective when Imry was about. He could never tolerate the second-rate, the commonplace. I have hated you for so long that I have forgotten to consider his judgment in the matter. He loved you and therefore I must try to see and accept that which was worthy of his love.”
“Why did you love him so much?” G
