She knew now that she had hoped in vain. He was as
merciless as he had been that day, ten years ago, when he had turned away
and left her alone in an old Italian garden, with the happy sunlight and
the scent of flowers mocking the half-realised despair at her heart.
"Then you haven't ever--forgiven me?" she said at last, haltingly.
He stared at her.
"Isn't that rather a curious question to ask? You killed everything in life
that mattered--damned my chances of happiness once and for always.... No, I
don't think I've forgiven you. I've endeavoured to forget you." He paused,
then added with a brief, ironic laugh: "It was a queer joke for fate to
play--bringing us both to the same neighbourhood."
"I didn't know," said Cara hastily. "You know that, don't you? I
had no idea you lived here when I bought the Priory. Even when I
heard--afterwards--that a Mr. Coventry owned Heronsmere, I never dreamed
it could be you. You see, I was told he was very wealthy--"
"And the Coventry you knew was--poor!"
It was like the thrust of a rapier, and Cara winced under the concentrated
scorn of the bitter speech.
"You are very merciless," she said, her voice shaken and uneven.
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