"How could there be any mistake," she asked, weakly, her vigorous attack now turned into a defence, more by his manner than his words, "when I heard her say so?"
"Sit down, child," he said, in his old authoritative manner. "You are not fit to stand."
She felt it would be a step towards defeat if she did so, but he brought up the chair in which she had before been sitting and placed it behind her, and quietly assisted her into it.
"Now," he went on, "you say you heard it from her lips. What did she say?"
"She said she insisted on going in to see you, and that as your affianced wife she had a right to do so."
"She said that, did she? That she was the affianced wife of Cuthbert Hartington?"
Mary thought for a moment.
"No, she did not use those words, at least, not that I can remember; but it was not necessary, I knew who she was. I have seen the sketches in your book, and there were several of them on the walls of your room. Of course I knew who she was speaking of, though she did not, so far as I can remember, use your name."
"Did it never occur to you, Miss Brander, that it was a natural thing one should have many sketches of the girl who always stood as a model in the studio, and that every student there would have his sketch-book full of them? Did you not know that there were three or four other wounded men of the same corps as myself in the hospital; that one at least was a fellow-student of mine, and also a foreigner, and that this young woman was just as likely to be asking to see him as to see me?"
An awful feeling of doubt and shame came with overpowering force over Mary Brander.