“Oh, Evie, dear, I beg your pardon. You should have told me before. I am so used to walking alone that I forgot.”
We moved at a slower pace. The view that had receded from my vision came back. My face was damp and the icy air blowing on it was good. The spiritual fight went on, with my heart beating and beating like a terrible warlike drum urging me on. Now was the time for him to know, before it was too late. We were half-way round—I could get it over before we’d made the full circuit. And then I’d be at peace, would have done a hideous thing that I ought to do. Now—now! I fetched up a breath from the bottom of my lungs. He spoke:
“That’s why she oughtn’t to go on with this singing. It brings a woman into contact with people that she shouldn’t meet.”
Each sentence seemed to point my way clearer. If he’d had any doubts, hadn’t been so completely without suspicion. But to hear him talk this way! I tried to make a beginning with Lizzie’s whispering voice getting in the way. I couldn’t find a phrase, nothing came but blunt brutal words. There was a moment when I thought I was going to cry these out, scream at him, “Roger, she was that man’s mistress!” Then everything blurred and I caught hold of the fence.
I was pulled back to reality by the quick concern of his voice.
“Evie, are you ill?”
I suppose I looked awful. His face told me so; he was evidently scared. I realized I couldn’t go on with it, must wait till a better time. The thought quieted me and my voice was almost natural, though my lips felt loose and shaky.
“I’m tired, I think.”
“You’re as white as death. Why didn’t you tell me? Good heavens, what an idiot I am not to have noticed before.”
Two men and a child stopped. The intent and glassy interest of their eyes helped to pull me together. I let go of the fence and put my hands, trembling as if with an ague, into my muff. Roger gave the trio a savage look, before which they quailed and slunk reluctantly away, watching us over their shoulders.