“So it is true....” Honoria desisted; but her eyes were wide and still fixed on the bed.
“Yes, it is true. You have all the luck. Mine is a cripple.”
Still Honoria stared. Lizzie gulped down something in her throat; but her voice, when she found it again, was still hoarse and strained.
“And now—go! You have learnt what you came for. You have won, because you stop at nothing. But go, before I try to kill you for the joy in your heart!”
“Joy?” Honoria put out a hand toward the bed’s foot, to steady herself. It was her turn to be weak.
“Yes—joy.” Lizzie stepped between her and the door, pointed a finger at her, and held it pointing. “In your heart you are glad already. Wait, and in a moment I shall see it in your eyes—glad, glad! Yes, your man was worthless, and you are glad. But oh! You bitter fool!”
“Let me go, please.”
“Listen a bit; no hurry now. Plenty of time to be glad ’twas only your husband, not the man of your heart. Look at me, and answer— I don’t count for much now, do I? Not much to hate in me, now you know the name of my child’s father, and that ’tisn’ Taffy Raymond!”
“Let me go.” But seeing that Lizzie would not, she stopped and kissed her boy. “Run out to the carriage, dear, and say I’ll be coming in a minute or two.” Little George clung to her wistfully, but her tone meant obedience. Lizzie stepped aside to let him pass out.
“Now,” said Honoria, “the next room is best, I think. Lead me there, and I will listen.”