"You do not know; but you must suspect. Now what do you suspect to be the cause of his going?"
"I do not even suspect, mamma."
"What do you conjecture, then?" persisted the lady.
"I cannot conjecture; I am all lost in amazement, mamma; but I feel—I feel—that it must be some fault in myself," faltered Berenice.
"What fault?"
"Ah, there again I am lost in perplexity; faults I have enough, Heaven knows; but what particular one is strong enough to estrange my husband I do not know, I cannot guess."
"Has he never accused you?"
"Never, mamma."
"Nor quarreled with you?"
"Never!"