“Paul, you’re outrageous to say that; who did?”
“I don’t know. I only know what a cruel, unkind world says.”
“I’m sure you do know; tell me.”
“You’re extremely inquisitive, Adele—excruciatingly so; you’re just as bad as Elsa.”
“Who’s Elsa?”
“In Lohengrin, but never mind her or him; if you must know now, if you insist about this woman, why, then—some other fellow, or other’s husband, has paid for it,” said Paul reluctantly.
Adele was confused, and her manner showed it. She felt uneasy, and her words told on what account. “Oh, Paul, that is terrible—poor woman—poor soul!” and Adele turned her head away to avoid Paul’s eyes—her heart sensitive—pained at the thought of the poor soul.
Paul drew Adele to him and placed her head on his shoulder.
“Now, my darling, you do know why I could not recognize that woman.”
“Why you came between us?” whispered Adele.