With this certainty Mrs. Conroy recovered herself.
"I will talk—with—my husband," she said.
Mr. Dumphy smiled—palpably, openly, and shamelessly. Mrs. Conroy coloured quickly, but not from the consciousness Mr. Dumphy attributed to her, of detected cunning. She had begun to be ashamed of the position she believed she occupied in this man's eyes, and fearful that he should have discovered her husband's indifference to her.
"I've already seen him," said Mr. Dumphy quietly.
The colour dropped from Mrs. Conroy's cheeks.
"He knows nothing of this," she said faintly.
"Of course," said Dumphy half contemptuously, "he said so; referred to you. That's all right. That's business."
"You did not tell him—you dared not"——she said excitedly.
Mr. Dumphy looked curiously at her for a moment. Then he rose and shut the door.
"Look here," he said, facing Mrs. Conroy in a hard, matter-of-fact way, "do you mean to say that what that man—your husband—said, was true? That he knows nothing of you; of the circumstances under which you came here?"