"If I had only been kinder to him he would, perhaps, never have thought of her. I must have made it clear that he jarred upon me. I drove him"—and Agatha turned her face away, while her voice grew a trifle strained—"into that woman's arms. No doubt she was ready to make the most of the opportunity."
Mrs. Hastings decided that the girl's scorn and disgust which had prompted the last outbreak were perfectly natural, but they were, as it happened, not quite warranted.
"In the first place," she said, "I think you had better read this note."
Agatha took it from her, and there was light enough left to show that the blood had crept into her face when she laid it down again. For almost a minute she sat very still.
"It is a great relief to know that I was wrong—in one respect, but you must not think I hated this girl because Gregory had preferred her to me," she said at length. "When the first shock had passed, there was an almost horrible satisfaction in feeling that he had released me—at any cost. I suppose I shall always be ashamed of that."
She broke off a moment, and her voice was very quiet when she went on again.
"Still," she added, "what Sproatly says does not alter the case so very much after all. It can't free me of my responsibility. If I hadn't driven him, Gregory would not have gone to her."
"You consider that in itself a very dreadful thing?"
Agatha looked at her with suddenly lifted head. "Of course," she said. "Can you doubt it?"
Her companion laughed, though there was a little gleam in her eyes, for this was an opportunity she had been waiting for.