Mrs. Newbold looked at him earnestly for several moments before replying; when she spoke it was in a far graver and more serious manner.
"And have you no idea, Philip, why Patricia played this somewhat ignoble rôle? Cannot you form some theory concerning it?"
Mr. Tremain shook his head.
"I have formed a dozen theories, my dear Esther, and dismissed them all; each seemed less tenable than the other."
"And yet, you are very sure you love her?"
"Yes, I am very sure of that. I wish I was as sure that she cared one-fifth part as much for me."
"Ah!" said Esther, a satisfied smile creeping in and out of her dimples. "Then, Philip, I think I must read the riddle for you. Patricia deceived you—because she loved you."
But if Mrs. Newbold expected Mr. Tremain to indulge in heroics at this declaration, she was destined to be disappointed. Instead of rhapsodies of delight, he replied with an echo of scorn in his voice.
"Are you aware what a paradoxical sentiment you are promulgating, Esther? Love is not commonly supposed to take pleasure in deception."
"Ah," she interrupted, "but Patricia is not a common woman; perhaps she is as paradoxical as my sentiment. However that may be, I assure you, Philip, she deceived you because she loved you. Do you remember receiving a letter from her, early in the spring?"