“Yes! It was he who came to me and told me. Norman, how could you do it? It was your fault, not hers! Oh, Norman, Norman, and we all trusted you so! You are the last person—”
“Thanks!” he said. “Never mind about me. You say Esmeralda has—has gone! Gone! Great Heaven! why?”
Lady Wyndover looked at him through dimmed eyes.
“Because—because you tempted her!” she said in a whisper. “Trafford saw you together in the fernery in the conservatory—he had other evidence; but that was enough.”
Norman uttered an exclamation; it was more like an oath. His brain was clearing from its bewilderment, and he was beginning to understand.
“Saw us in the fernery? Ah!” He drew a long breath.
“Yes; and he knew that you had known her before she came to England; that—that you had loved her.”
He nodded, his face white, his teeth set.
“I see,” he whispered to himself. “And he went and—and bullied her!”