"'Tis true," she sobbed; "I betrayed you to my Lord Jeffreys."
"You did?"
"Yes. I—came even from so doing when I met you—that night in Taunton."
"That night! And yet, madame, having done so, you allowed me to go on, without word of warning, into the trap which you yourself had set?"
His face was in the shadow, but she trembled at the suppressed anger in his tone.
"Is this true, madame?" he continued sharply.
She had no answer save a sob.
"And may I ask," he continued presently in the same stern tone, "may I ask your reason for—er—taking such an active interest in my affairs?"
"I—I deemed you had betrayed Barbara," she answered timidly.
"Your suspicion was as unjust as your revenge," he cried angrily. Then he checked himself, and presently continued coldly, "Your pardon, madame, I forgot myself. I believe,"—he drawled with a slight sneer—"in affairs of honour, 'tis not—customary to judge women by the standard usually applied to men."