"You mean—he had not enough of his own, and he used—But—but—that—surely—!" She thrilled with horror, like a wounded creature. "That! My husband! But, Nigel! It was not—honourable—honest!"
Nigel's lips hardly formed the word "No!" He forced himself to add: "My father did not intend—"
"How do you know he did not intend? What do you mean by intending'? He knew what he did; he must have known."
"I don't think he realised—fully."
"Do people ever?" she asked, with positive scorn. "Isn't that always the way—borrowing, and meaning to repay?" Then she dropped her head, and broke into a low wail: "Albert—my husband!"
Nigel had no comfort to offer. He could only wait in silence; and soon the question came again—
"How do you know what he intended and did not intend?"
"He said it to Fulvia, dying, and asked her pardon."
"And I not told! I ought to have been told. Did he say any more that I have not heard?"
"He asked me to repay Fulvia—to—"