"You are not happy, Madelon," he said, at length. "Can I do
nothing to help you?"
She raised her head and looked at him.
"Nothing, nothing!" she cried. "Ah, forgive me, Monsieur
Horace, for speaking so to you; but you do not know, you
cannot understand how unhappy I am."
"Buy why, Madelon? What is it? Has any one spoken unkindly to
you?"
"No, no, it is not that. You do not understand. Why do you
come to me here? Why am I here at all? If people knew who and
what I am, would they talk to me as they do? Supposing I had
told Lady Adelaide just now--yes, you heard every word of that
conversation--she would have despised me, as you pitied me,
Monsieur Horace. Yes, you pitied me; I saw it in your eyes."
"My pity is not such as you need resent, Madelon," said
Graham, with a sigh.
"I do not resent it," she answered hastily. "You are kind, you
are good; you do well to pity me. What al I? The daughter of
a--a--yes, I know well enough now--I did not once, but I do now--
and I am here in your society, amongst you all, on
sufferance."
"You are wrong," answered Graham quickly, scarcely thinking of
what he said.
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