"Tell me—just one word—I will not believe anybody's word except your own. Caroline, are you—still innocent?"
Lady Caroline shrank from her touch. "Don't hold me so. You may have one standard of virtue, I another."
"Still, tell me."
"And if I did, you, an 'honourable English matron'—was not that your husband's word?—would turn from me, most likely."
"She will not," John said. "She has been happy, and you most miserable."
"Oh, most miserable."
That bitter groan went to both their hearts, Ursula leaned over her—herself almost in tears. "Cousin Caroline, John says true—I will not turn from you. I know you have been sinned against—cruelly—cruelly. Only tell me that you yourself have not sinned."
"I HAVE 'sinned,' as you call it."
Ursula started—drew closer to her husband. Neither spoke.
"Mrs. Halifax, why don't you take away your hand?"