But at that Maud raised herself. She met the old woman's eyes in the gloom, her own heavy with bitterness.
"Mrs. Wright, that was not love," she said, "or anything approaching to love." She paused a moment, as though the tragic words had cost her all her strength; then piteously she ended, "He told me he had a fancy for me; that was all. So for Bunny's sake--and partly for my own--I married him. And now I am the slave of that fancy."
"Oh dear, dear, dear!" Mrs. Wright said again. "And has he never made love to you at all? What a silly fellow, to be sure! Men don't know anything; upon my word, they don't!"
"I didn't like his methods of making love." Maud spoke with growing bitterness. "And I never suffered them. Oh yes, I have to endure them now. He takes whatever he wants. But every spark of affection or respect that I ever had for him went out one night in the winter when he came home the worse for drink."
"Sakes alive!" exclaimed Mrs. Wright. "Not Jake!"
"Yes, Jake." Maud spoke with tragic vehemence. "I saw him, and so did Charlie. We both knew it."
"Who is Charlie?" questioned Mrs. Wright.
A faint tinge of colour rose in the girl's pale face. "Lord Saltash. He is an old family friend of ours. He was always Charlie Burchester to us in the old days."
"And he told you Jake was drunk?" demanded Mrs. Wright, with round, indignant eyes.
Maud made a gesture of weary indifference. "He didn't actually tell me so. I think he didn't want me to know. But he couldn't deny it when I put it to him."