"Because I want to understand your position. You amazed me then, and you seem more than ever disposed to amaze me now. You were attracted by Caspar Brooke—heaven knows why! and you made no secret of the fact. You liked the man, and he liked you. I don't know how far the friendship went——"
"There was nothing in it but the most ordinary, innocent acquaintanceship!"
"Lady Alice did not think so. Lady Alice made a devil of a row about it, as far as I understand. Everyone who knows the story blames you, Rosalind, for the quarrel and separation between husband and wife."
"It was not my fault."
"Oh, was it not? Well, perhaps not. At any rate, the husband and wife separated quietly, twelve years ago. I don't know whether you hoped that Brooke would give his wife any justification for her suspicions——"
"Oliver, you are brutal! You insult me! I have never given you reason to think so ill of me."
"I think of you," said Oliver, slowly, "only as I think of all women. I don't suppose you are better or worse than the rest. As it happened the whole thing seemed to die down after that separation. Romaine whisked you off to Calcutta with him. Then he fell ill, and you had to nurse him: you and your friend Brooke did not often meet. Then your husband died, after a long illness, and you came here again three years ago—for what object?"
"I had no object but that of living in a part of London which was familiar to me—and of being amongst friends. You have no right at all to call me to account in this way."
"So I said a few minutes ago. But you remarked that you wished me to understand and approve of your proceedings. I am only trying to get at your motives—if you have any."
Mrs. Romaine was tempted to say that she had no motives. But she did not think that Oliver would believe her.