"Lucy, I can't, I meant to, God knows; but now the time's come, I can't think—my head's whirling. Give me till to-morrow, Lucy, I will tell you then, I swear."
"And you think, Hector, I could wait till to-morrow," said Lucy passionately, "oh, how can you be so inhuman? Surely, surely, it can't be so hard a thing as this, that you can't tell me, your wife of ten years. Oh, my dearest," and Lucy put her arms round his neck, "we have never had secrets from each other, like most husbands and wives."
"This is different, Lucy."
"Is it money ... gambling? If so, I can help you. I have——"
"It's not money, Lucy."
"Something you've done in the regiment, then, have—have they cashiered you, Hector? If that's it, I don't mind a bit. I always hated the regiment; it was never a good enough one for you."
"It's nothing of that sort, Lucy."
Lucy stared at him, her brow knit in thought; then suddenly her arms fell from his neck and she sank, a huddled heap, on the hearth-rug.
"It's ... another ... woman, Hector?"
"Yes."