"Armstrong doesn't worry much about showing up here," it said. "I suppose he figures that nobody knows just how he got control of Food Products, anyhow! What I can't understand is why Deming endures him, after the way he chucked Deming out of his own business!"
Dorothy felt the red come flooding into her cheeks, while Joel Giddings rattled obliviously along. She did not need to seek, to know that the voice belonged to Ried Williams. After some inaudible response, it came again, fairly burning into her.
"Perhaps Deming never suspected—there was a good deal he didn't know about the frame-up that Armstrong put over. I shouldn't wonder if he still thinks Armstrong was his best friend that day! It was the same day of Dorothy's wedding, you know. The whole affair was mighty cleverly done, if you ask me! No, of course she never knew anything about it; Armstrong kept the machinery all out of sight. He sure did have it running smooth, too."
The voice died away, as the speaker moved off. Dorothy leaned forward to see with whom Williams had been talking, but she was too late.
Here, then, was the old dreadful thought actually put into words!
She had never entertained a definite suspicion, despite Macgowan's words to her before the wedding. She had never even dared to think of such a thing as had now been bluntly laid before her mind. Her first impulse was to seek Williams, denounce him as a liar, publicly settle this calumny before every one. The fact that his hatred of Armstrong still persisted, for all his hypocritical friendliness, infuriated her.
The impulse was swiftly killed. Doubt killed it; her first doubt of her husband.
Her mind flew back to the wedding-day, to those words from Macgowan, to the honeymoon and the little Armstrong had ever said about the manner in which he had taken over Food Products. She found herself recalling little things, hitherto unnoted; words, acts, looks. Could there be some truth, after all, in the calumny? Had Armstrong really put her father out of the company—was that why he had persistently remained out? Williams ought to know, if any one did.
Shame flamed into her—shame, anger at herself for allowing such thoughts entrance in her mind. Of course it was a lie, a calumny! All of it!
For the remainder of that evening, Dorothy was in turmoil. She made no mention of all this to Armstrong. Later, while he slept, she lay beside him wide-eyed and sleepless, and there fought out the decision within her own heart.