"The telephone bell rang several times before it was answered, did it not?"
"Yes, but——"
Sir Robert cut her short. "I suggest to you that even then you were in your lover's arms?" he said with bitter scorn.
"It is a lie!" Peggy answered once more.
"Then, Mrs. Admaston, and for the last time, I press for an answer. Do you still insist that you and your lover——"
She didn't allow him to finish his sentence. Desperate as she was, the hot words poured from her in a cataract of sound.
"How dare you suggest that he is my lover!" she cried. "I tell you that I have never loved him!—never—never—never—never! If I had loved him do you think that I would be here now? For months and months he has begged and entreated me to let my husband divorce me so that I could marry him. If I had loved him, do you think that I would have faced this horrible place? I have never loved him. I have been foolish—I have played with fire—I have loved his admiration. I did not know that the law—man's law—made no difference between the opportunity to do wrong and the wrong itself. I know now. Some day men who know women will make other laws—some of us must have our lives broken first. In the face of that letter and the evidence, no man would ever believe me, whatever I say; but I swear before God that it was all an accident—our being in Paris. I swear that I meant no harm by all my little lies. I swear I have done nothing wrong—nothing; but no one will believe me now—no one." Her voice sank and dropped, and she ended her outburst with a deep moan of pain.
"I think we will adjourn now," said the President, and there was pain in his voice also.
He gathered up the papers before him on his desk and rose. The court rose also.
There was an immediate hum and bustle, which broke out into the loud murmurs of subdued conversation as the judge left his seat and disappeared through the door at the back.