"Farewell, mademoiselle, until--until you can prove that I was mistaken.
We shall not meet till then." For a moment she gazed steadily at the
artist, but he did not stir. He stood with his arms folded, his face
impassive.
Slowly she turned, and with a stiff bow swept haughtily out of the
studio.
"Now," commenced Hugh, when the door had closed, "what explanation have
you to give of this strange conduct, pray?"
"None."
"That does not satisfy me."
"My dear old fellow," exclaimed Jack, stretching out his hand, "you--you
understand; I cannot--I'm unable to give any."
"Why?"
"Because it is impossible."
"Do you love her?" asked Hugh fiercely.
"Love her!" the other echoed, with a short laugh. "I swear to you, upon
my oath, I hate her! Have I not already long ago expressed my opinion?"
"Is that still unchanged?"
"Quite--intensified rather than moderated."
"Well, perhaps I have been a trifle too hasty, Jack. It seems that you
know much of her past. Tell me, what was the object of your interview?"