"It's true that I love him." She played absently with one of the little silver ornaments on the table beside her, and then added: "It is true also that I offered myself to him, though I never meant to marry him—threw myself at his head. And that he refused me——"
"He didn't care——?"
Sigrid, glancing up, caught that look of mingled disgust and hope and fear, but it was the hope and fear alone that had significance.
"He had asked you to marry him. He told me that there could only be one woman in his life—and that woman his wife."
"That is true?"
"I give you my word of honour."
Anne sat very still. The tears were dry on her cheeks. She held herself rather as she had done at the beginning.
"And then—that night—a fortnight ago——"
"Ah, the temple?" She smiled faintly. "You won't understand that so well. You see, I am a mixture of a great artist and a bad woman. And artistically I have always realized how beautiful I should be against such a background. It was an artistic freak—though I daresay the woman in me had a spiteful hope that Major Tristram might chance that way and realize all he had lost. Anyhow, my heart failed me. Your husband acted the good Samaritan; and that is the whole story."
"If that is true I have done my husband a great wrong."