“In his present mood,” Anna remarked, “he would follow me.”
“Oh, you are strong and brave,” Annabel murmured. “You can keep him at arm’s length. Besides, it was under false pretences. He told me that he was a millionaire. It could not be a legal marriage.”
“I am very much afraid,” Anna answered, “that it was. It might be upset. I am wondering whether it would not be better to tell your husband everything. You will never be happy with this hanging over you.”
Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne.
“You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. He is steeped in the conventions. Every slight action is influenced by what he imagines would be the opinion of other people. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. He has no imagination, no real generosity. You might tell the truth to some men, but never to him.”
Anna was thoughtful. A conviction that her sister’s words were true had from the first possessed her.
“Annabel,” she said slowly, “if I fight this thing out myself, can I trust you that it will not be a vain sacrifice? After what you have said it is useless for us to play with words. You do not love your husband, you have married him for a position—to escape from—things which you feared. Will you be a faithful and honest wife? Will you do your duty by him, and forget all your past follies? Unless, Annabel, you can——”
“Oh, I will pledge you my word,” Annabel cried passionately, “my solemn word. Believe me, Anna. Oh, you must believe me. I have been very foolish, but it is over.”
“Remember that you are young still, and fond of admiration,” Anna said. “You will not give Sir John any cause for jealousy? You will have no secrets from him except—concerning those things which are past?”