'
Scythrop was confounded. What was become of all her passion and her
tears? Still kneeling, he kissed her hand with rueful timidity, and
said, in most pathetic accents, 'Do you not love me, Marionetta?'
'No,' said Marionetta, with a look of cold composure: 'No.' Scythrop
still looked up incredulously. 'No, I tell you.'
'Oh! very well, madam,' said Scythrop, rising, 'if that is the case,
there are those in the world--'
'To be sure there are, sir;--and do you suppose I do not see through
your designs, you ungenerous monster?'
'My designs? Marionetta!'
'Yes, your designs, Scythrop. You have come here to cast me off, and
artfully contrive that it should appear to be my doing, and not yours,
thinking to quiet your tender conscience with this pitiful stratagem.
But do not suppose that you are of so much consequence to me: do not
suppose it: you are of no consequence to me at all--none at all:
therefore, leave me: I renounce you: leave me; why do you not leave
me?'
Scythrop endeavoured to remonstrate, but without success. She
reiterated her injunctions to him to leave her, till, in the
simplicity of his spirit, he was preparing to comply. When he had
nearly reached the door, Marionetta said, 'Farewell.' Scythrop looked
back.
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