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She listened, in a kind of breathless stupor, to my frank explanation that not part only, but the whole, of this natural tale was a pure invention. Scorn and indignation flashed from her eyes.
She did not altogether scorn her own intelligence at the result, because it had always admitted the existence of dominating facts that belonged to life and not to reason; it was only the absurd unexpectedness of coming across one herself.
There was something very becoming in her passion, in the defiant pose of her dainty head, and the magnificent scorn with which she glanced at her rival. "There is nothing to be gained, madame, by being insolent," said he. "Nor is it my custom, sire." "And yet I find your words so." "Truth is always mistaken for insolence, sire, at the court of France." "We have had enough of this."
Come and sit on this bench. Five minutes will explain all to you, and I will not believe that my Valmai can have become the cold and heartless girl you seem to be." But Gwladys continued standing, and looking at him with eyes in which scorn and contempt were but too plainly visible.
If a lady showed favour to a man, the less worthy he was, the less could he be expected to see the unfitness of the thing. Besides, to acknowledge thus any human relation between Richard and either of them, would be degrading. It was scorn alone that kept Arthur from hating Richard.
The silence was far more unbearable now that a human voice had broken into it, a voice she loved repudiating with indignant scorn the possibility of suspecting her! She must go somewhere, she must speak to some one. But at this moment it was also evident that she must dress for dinner.
"Yonder is a death kinder than death by the fire and yet I do fear this more than the fire by reason of this my hateful woman's body. Now may you triumph over my weakness an you will, yet none can scorn it more than I "
You will see some day, if you do not scorn to enter my house and if you gain her friendship and I doubt not that you will, albeit it is not granted to every one she will be glad enough to complain of my dealings in this matter mine, her own son's, although on other points she is wont to praise my virtues over-loudly."
Marguerite having realized her mistake, ashamed of having betrayed her feelings even for a moment, threw back her proud head and gave her exultant foe a look of defiance and of scorn. He responded with one of pity, not altogether unmixed with deference. There was something almost unearthly and sublime in this beautiful woman's agonizing despair.
"Do ye mind, Marcella, when we read yon books from Edinburgh and you used to be such an idiot, and make me so mad?" "I mind it," she nodded, thinking painfully of those hard books. "There was something in one of them that I seized on with a bitter scorn. It was explaining how the idea of the sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ had grown up.
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