"Lady Ilfield says that you are her shadow. Is that true?"
"Lady Ilfield is a gossip, and the wife who listens to scandal about her husband lowers herself."
She did not shrink now from his words.
"I have not gossiped about you, Lance," she said; "but I wish you yourself to tell me why people talk about you and Madame Vanira."
"How can I tell? Why do people talk? Because they have nothing better to do."
But that did not satisfy her; her heart ached; this was not the manner in which she had expected him to meet the charge—so differently—either to deny it indignantly, or to give her some sensible explanation. As it was, he seemed to avoid the subject, even while he owned that it was true.
"I am not satisfied, Lance," she said; "you have made me very unhappy; if there is anything to tell me tell it now."
"What should I have to tell you?" he asked, impatiently.
"I do not know; but if there is any particular friendship or acquaintance between Madame Vanira and yourself, tell me now."
It would have been better if he had told her, if he had made an open confession of his fault, and have listened to her gentle counsel, but he did not; on the contrary, he looked angrily at her.