Mr. Austin Ambrose had worked upon her feelings and tempted her to do this thing, and she had done it. But in the doing of it she had felt distinctly uncomfortable, in the first place she had discovered that Margaret was a lady; if she had been one of Lottie's own class, Lottie could have had no compunction whatever. Then Margaret's beauty, which affected everybody more or less, had had its effect upon Lottie; then again Margaret had treated her so kindly and gently; and altogether Lottie Belvoir had not had a particularly good time of it.
She got the glass of water and sprinkled it over the white beautiful face, and chafed her hands and presently Margaret reopened her eyes, and smiling faintly, murmured—"Blair!"
Then, as memory returned to its seat, the white features were convulsed, and shrinking away from Lottie she said, in a ghastly whisper:
"It is all true, then? I—I thought that I had dreamt it."
"Yes, it is all true," said Lottie, rather sullenly. "And now I want to know what you are going to do, miss?"
Margaret winced at the "miss." More surely than any other word could have done, it brought home to her the fact of her ruin and degradation.
Slowly she dragged herself to a chair, and sank into it, refusing with a slight shudder Lottie's proffered arm.
"What I am going to do?" she repeated in a dull, benumbed fashion. "I do not know! Yes I—I must go away! I must go at once, before—before he returns."
"That is the best thing you can do, miss," said Lottie. "It goes against me to drive you away, but what can I do? He is my husband——"