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
