"Lady Ilfield is a mischief-making old——" began Lord Chandos, but his wife's sweet, pale face startled him.
"Lance," she cried, suddenly, "oh, my God, it is not true?"
The ring of pain and passion in her voice frightened him; she looked at him with eyes full of woe.
"It is not true?" she repeated.
"Who said it was true?" he asked, angrily.
Then there was a few minutes of silence between them; and Lady Marion looked at him again.
"Lance," she said, "is it true?"
Their eyes met, hers full of one eager question. His lips parted; her whole life seemed to hang on the word that was coming from his lips.
"Is it true?" she repeated.
He tried to speak falsely, he would have given much for the power to say "No." He knew that one word would content her—that she would believe it implicitly, and that she would never renew the question. Still with that fair, pure face before him—with those clear eyes fixed on him—he could not speak falsely, he could not tell a lie. He could have cried aloud with anguish, yet he answered, proudly: