"Well, if you like, I began. I'm not ashamed. But I said very little. When he asked me if I thought it good that she and—the other—should be together out there and he here—well, was I to say yes?"
"I think," observed Tom, in quiet and deliberate tones, "that it's a great pity that some women can't be gagged."
"They can, but only with kisses," said Mrs. Cormack, not at all offended. "Oh, don't be frightened. I do not wish to be gagged at all. If I did—there is more than one man in the world."
Tom despised and half-hated her; but he liked her good-nature, and, in his heart, admired her for not flinching. Her shamelessness was crossed with courage.
"So you've made him miserable?"
"Well, I might say, I, a wicked Frenchwoman, that it is better to be deceived than to be wretched. But you, an Englishman——! Oh, never, Mr. Loring!"
Tom sat silent a little while.
"I don't know what to do," he said, half in reverie.
"Who thought you would?" asked Mrs. Cormack, unkindly.
"I believe it's all a mare's nest."