‘Nothing at all.’
It seemed to Nancy that she heard a sigh of relief. The other’s face was turned away. Then Mrs. Damerel took a seat by the fire.
‘They will be married to-morrow, I dare say, at Bournemouth—no use trying to prevent it. I don’t know whether you will believe me, but it is a blow that will darken the rest of my life.’
Her voice sounded slightly hoarse, and she lay back in the chair, with drooping head.
‘You have nothing to reproach yourself with,’ said Nancy, yielding to a vague and troublous pity. ‘And you have done as much as any one could on his behalf.’
‘I shall never see him again—that’s the hardest thought. She will poison him against me. He told me I had lied to him about a letter that girl wrote from Brussels; she has made him think her a spotless innocent, and he hates me for the truth I told about her.’
‘However short his life,’ said Nancy, ‘he is only too likely to find out what she really is.’
‘I am not sure of that. She knows he is doomed, and it’s her interest to play a part. He will die thinking the worst of me.—Nancy, if he writes to you, and says anything against me, you will remember what it means?’
‘My opinion of people is not affected by hearsay,’ Nancy replied.
It was a remark of dubious significance, and Mrs. Damerel’s averted eyes seemed to show that she derived little satisfaction from it. As the silence was unbroken, Nancy rose.