What could he say? Vainly he racked his brains. He must say something, or the girl would believe him to be fool as well as knave. Ideas, excuses, lies entered his mind, he put them aside instantly, as being unworthy of him and of her, yet he must tell her—something.
“When—when I used your name, believe me, I had no idea that it was the property of a living woman—”
“When you used my name? I don’t understand you!”
“I claimed that I was married to a Miss Joan Meredyth—”
“I still don’t understand you. You say you claimed that you were married—are you married to anyone?”
“No!”
“Then—then—” Again the glorious flush came into her cheeks, but was gone again, leaving her whiter, colder than before, only her eyes seemed to burn with the fire of anger and contempt.
“I am beginning to understand, for some reason of your own, you used my name, you informed Lady Linden that you—and I were—married?”
“Yes,” he said.
“And it was, of course, a vile lie, an insolent lie!” Her voice quivered. “It has subjected me to humiliation and annoyance. I do not think that a girl has ever been placed in such a false position as I have been through your—cowardly lie.”