"'We?' Then—then she was with him? She is with him now?" and her hands clenched so that the nails ran into the soft, pinky palms.
"She was," he answered gravely; "but she is not now."
"Not now!" she echoed, with a quick glance at the calm, set face. "Where is she, then? Has he sent her away? Tell me, quick!"
"He has not sent her away, but she has gone. Violet, prepare yourself for a shock. The poor girl is dead!"
She sprung to her feet, and stood staring at him for a moment, then sank into her chair, a light of relief and joy, almost demoniacal in its intensity, spreading over her face.
"Dead! Dead, Austin?" hoarsely; "you are not—not playing with me?"
"Rather too serious a subject for joking, isn't it?" he responded, coolly. "No, I am telling you the plain truth; the girl is dead!"
"When? How?" she demanded.
He was silent a second or two, then he said: