She spoke with such force that Sylvia felt actually shocked. Yet still with that instinctive tact of hers, she sought to smooth the troubled waters. "Oh, have you children?" she said. "How many? Do tell me about them!"
"I have had six," said Mrs. Merston dully. "They are all dead."
She clenched her hands at Sylvia's quick exclamation of pity, but she gave no other sign of emotion.
"They all die in infancy," she said. "It's partly the climate, partly that I am overworked—worn out. He—" with infinite bitterness—"can't see it. Men don't—or won't. You'll find that presently. It's all in front of you. I don't envy you in the least, Mrs. Ranger. I daresay you think there is no one in the world like your husband. Young brides always do. But you'll find out presently. Men are all selfish where their own pleasures are concerned. And Burke Ranger is no exception to the rule. He has a villainous temper, too. Everyone knows that."
"Oh, don't tell me that!" said Sylvia gently. "He and I are partners, you know. Let me put a little eau-de-cologne in that water! It's so refreshing."
Mrs. Merston scarcely noticed the small service. She was too intent upon her work of destruction. "You don't know him—yet," she said. "But anyone you meet can tell you the same. Why, he had a young cousin here—such a nice boy—and he sent him straight to the bad with his harsh treatment,—sjamboked him and turned him out of the house for some slight offence. Yes, no wonder you look scandalized; but I assure you it's true. Guy Ranger was none too steady, I know. But that was absolutely the finishing touch. He was never the same again."
She paused. Sylvia was very white, but her eyes were quite resolute, unfailingly steadfast.
"Please don't tell me any more!" she said. "Whatever Burke did was—was from a good motive. I know that. I know him. And—I don't want to have any unkind feelings towards him."
"You prefer to remain blind?" said Mrs. Merston with her bitter smile,
"Yes—yes," Sylvia said.