"By seeing his brother, she thought, and getting him, perhaps, to persuade my father—how I hate the name!—that there were no grounds for such an action."
"What"—Irene forced each syllable from her lips—"what are the grounds alleged?"
Olga began a reply, but the first word choked her. Her self-command gave way, she sobbed, and turned to hide her face.
"You, too, are being tried beyond your strength," said Irene, whose womanhood fortified itself in these moments of wretched doubt and shame. "Come, we must have some lunch whilst aunt is asleep."
"I want to get it all over—to tell you as much as I know," said the other. "Mother says there is not even an appearance of wrong-doing against her—that she can only be accused by deliberate falsehood. She hasn't told me more than that—and how can I ask? Of course he is capable of everything—of any wickedness!"
"You mean Daniel Otway?"
"No—her husband—I will never again call him by the other name."
"Do you know whether Piers Otway has seen his brother?"
"He hadn't up to yesterday, when he sent mother a note, saying that the man was away, and couldn't be heard of."
With an angry effort Olga recovered her self-possession. Apart from the natural shame which afflicted her, she seemed to experience more of indignation and impatience than any other feeling. Growing calmer, she spoke almost with bitterness of her mother's folly.