Carleton looked troubled. He was not of a frank nature, and it was always difficult for him to confide his personal affairs to anybody. Fessenden saw this, and resolved upon strong measures.
“You must tell me everything,” he said somewhat sternly. “You must do this at the sacrifice of your own wishes. You must ignore yourself, and lay your whole heart bare to me, for the sake of your mother, and—for the sake of the woman you love.”
Schuyler Carleton started as if he had been physically struck.
“What do you mean?” he cried.
“You know what I mean,” said Fessenden gently. “You did not love the woman you were about to marry. You do love another. Can you deny it?”
“No,” said Carleton, settling back into his apathy. “And since you know that, I may as well tell you all. I admired and respected Madeleine Van Norman, and when I asked her to marry me I thought I loved her. After that I met some one else. You know this?”
“Yes; Miss Burt.”
“Yes. She came into this house as my mother’s companion, and almost from the first time I saw her I knew that she and not Madeleine was the one woman in the world for me. But, Fessenden, never by word or look did I betray this to Miss Burt while Madeleine lived. If she guessed it, it was only because of her woman’s intuition. I was always loyal to Madeleine in word and deed, if I could not be in thought.”
“Was it not your duty to tell Madeleine this?”
“I tried several times to do so, but, though I hate to sound egotistical, she loved me very deeply, and I felt that honor bound me to her.”