His hands clenched on the whip he was holding; a rush of bitter, molten words crowded in his throat; he managed to choke them down. All he said, but that in a voice that made her flinch, was one word: “Don’t!”
Her sobs grew louder, more gasping. “If you knew — I did my best...”
"No, you didn’t,” he interrupted. He gave an ugly laugh. “Don’t women manage to dispose of their unwanted infants? Lie on them, or something? Couldn’t you have got rid of me?”
Her horrified eyes started at him. “Oh, Raymond, don’t, don’t! You don’t know what you’re saying! Oh, how wicked — Oh, you mustn’t talk like that!”
“Wicked!” he repeated. “Wasn’t it wicked to palm me off as your sister’s child? To let me grow up in utter ignorance — Oh my God, can’t you see what you’ve done?”
“Rachel promised!” she said desperately. “It wasn’t my fault… Rachel arranged everything! She promised no one should ever know! Adam had no right to tell you!” A terrible thought occurred to her; she gave a whimper of fright, and cowered into the corner of her chair. “What did he do it for? Raymond, why did he do it?”
“Does it matter?” he asked.
“But, Raymond!” Her voice was rising again, on a note of panic. “What’s he going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
She sprang up, catching her foot in the fringe of the rug on the floor, and stumbling over it. “But he can’t say anything! He mustn’t! Not after all these years! He promised! He couldn’t be so dreadful!”