"George, I did lie," she wailed—"yes, I did; but only that, only that! I am your wife! Believe me! believe me!"
"My wife! No—no! How am I to believe you? How am I to tell whether that's a lie or not?"
"It's the truth!" she reiterated, her voice shrill with pain. "I swear it! I am as much your wife as I was the day you married me."
Unable to stand longer, she sank down upon the sofa, sobbing terribly.
"You have broken me," the man said—"crushed me. Oh! I was mad to let you do it! I was a fool to leave you alone! But I trusted you. I laughed at the gossip. The ridicule only made my trust in you the greater. I worshipped you, adored you! My whole life was a prayer to you, my ambition to make you proud of me. My whole aim in life was to win you, by doing big things—for you. And now it is all turned to desecration—to be the mock of the crowd!"
"Forgive me, George," she sobbed, "forgive me! I'll come to you. I am humble, not you. I am struck down, crushed. But I'll be your slave. I am still your wife. I am still——"
He gazed at her searchingly. "You love Collingwood," he said in a hollow, empty voice.
"No, no! There was a time when I thought I did."
"You thought you did! When did you think it? Last night?"
"No, George, no! I love you! I knew that last night, if I never knew it before. I love you, George!"