“Because I was forced to. Believe me or not as you will, I am not going to tell you the story—at any rate, not now. I can only repeat that I was forced to.”
“Where is Arthur?”
“In Madeira. Do you remember once telling me that you had only to lift your hand—so—ah! I forgot, I cannot lift mine—to draw him back to you, that no other woman in the world could keep him from you if you chose to bid him come?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Then, if you wish to get him back, you had better exercise your power, for he has gone to another woman.”
“Who is she? What is she like?”
“She is a young widow—a Mrs. Carr. She is desperately in love with him—very beautiful and very rich.”
“Beautiful! How do you mean? Tell me exactly what she is like.”
“She has brown eyes, brown hair, a lovely complexion, and a perfect figure.”
Angela glanced rapidly at her own reflection in the glass and sighed.