to express her meaning, which implied a reproach at Madame Koller's want of delicacy.
Madame Koller made a gesture of impatience.
"What are promises?" she cried. "Nevertheless, I want you to see that if you marry Pembroke it will be his ruin. It would be most wicked selfishness."
"Madame Koller," answered Olivia, rising, "I will not listen to any more."
"I have nothing more to say," responded Madame Koller, rising too, and drawing her cloak around her. "I did not expect more from you than conventional tolerance. Had you a heart you would have felt for me—for him—for yourself. Can you conceive of anything more noble, or more piteous than two women, one of whom must make a great sacrifice for the man they both love—come, you need not deny it, or lose your temper—because I see you have a temper." Olivia's air and manner did certainly indicate dangerous possibilities. "I repeat, of two women as we are, the one makes the sacrifice—the other feels it to the quick. You talk though like a boarding-school miss. You might have got all the phrases you have used out of a book of deportment."
"I am as sincere as you are, Madame Koller," answered Olivia, in a voice of restrained anger. "I cannot help it that I am more reserved. I could no more say what you have said—" here a deep flush came into Olivia's face—"than I could commit murder."
