"It's all true, by——" he burst out, "every word of it!"
"When I was in there," he went on, with a gesture toward the other room, "I swore I'd tell you. Make the best and the worst of it. It's all true—that and more."
He sat down in a chair and rested his forehead on his hands.
"Things has begun to go agen me," he said. "They never did before. I've been used to tell myself there was a kind of luck in keeping it hid from her. Th' day it comes on her, full force, I'm done for. I said in there you should know, at least. It's all true."
"I knew it was true," remarked Miss Ffrench, "all the time."
"You knew!" he cried out. "You!"
"I have known it from the first," she answered. "Did you think it was a secret?"
He turned hot and cold as he looked at her.
"Then, by George, you'd a reason for saying what you did. What was it?"
She remained silent, looking out of the open window across the flower-bright garden. She watched a couple of yellow butterflies eddying above a purple hyacinth for several seconds before she spoke, and then did so slowly and absently.