Florence stamped her foot in an agony of impatience.
“I never thought about it. What was it to me? Why torture me with this hesitation? What was the whispered word that filled you with such strange thoughts of me?”
With evident reluctance and unwillingness, Mr. Aylwinne at last replied:
“He told me the nature of your errand at the Albany.”
“Well? Was there aught in it for which you could condemn me?”
“Certainly not, if”—then there was another tormenting pause—“if you still believed yourself a wife.”
Florence recoiled in dismay.
“I a wife! Whose? Lieutenant Mason’s? Nay, he dared not tell you this!”
Mr. Aylwinne smiled bitterly.
“Do you think that such a man would hesitate to prove false to any trust, or that compassion for deceived innocence is to be found in one so crafty and designing?”