“But surely I will,” went on Kathleen Weir, as Webster paused and hesitated. “However, I have not told you all. ‘And as you are a rich man,’ I continued, ’you must pay for your freedom. I am ready to swear falsely; to rid you of a wife to whom you are indifferent, and who is perfectly indifferent to you, but I must be paid for it.’ He made no objections, and I named the sum I would accept—ten thousand pounds—and to this also he made no objections. Now, don’t you think it was very clever of me?”
“But—have you any case against him?”
“Of course I have a case, and we can arrange the particulars between us. He won’t deny the hair-pulling and the beatings, and the judge will believe me to be an injured woman, and give me the release I am dying for. I will be free—free and rich—and perhaps then—”
Her voice faltered as she said the last few words, for the first time during this interview, and her eyes fell. Webster’s eyes also fell, and he moved uneasily, and then he rose and went toward the fireplace and stood leaning against the mantel-piece.
Kathleen Weir glanced after him; then also rose and followed him to where he was standing.
“Do not think me hard, or cold, or mercenary,” she said, “in making this bargain. I—I was not thinking of myself when I did so. I make a large income by my profession; more than I need. But I wanted this sum—Ralph Webster, shall I tell you why?”
She put out her white hand as she spoke, and laid it on his arm. It was trembling, and Webster saw it tremble, and an embarrassed silence followed for a few moments between them.
“Shall I tell you why?” she presently repeated, in a soft, low voice, and she looked up in his face. “I wanted it for you—for you, for whose sake I wish also to be free.”
“Hush, hush, do not speak thus,” said Webster, in great agitation. “I thank you very much for your kindness, your friendship—but—”
“But what?” asked Kathleen, quickly, and her face grew pale.