She did not reply; he ought to know whom she meant.
"She died a few years ago—but I thought her dead when I married Mrs. Gregory. I didn't mean any wrong to my wife, I wanted everything legal, and supposed it was. I thought everything was all right until that awful night—when Fran came. There'd been no divorce, so Fran kept the secret—not on my account, oh, no, no, not on her father's account! She gave me no consideration. It was on account of Mrs. Gregory."
"Which Mrs. Gregory?"
"You know—Mrs. Gregory."
"Can you believe that?" Grace asked, with a chilled smile. "You believe Fran really cares for your wife? You think any daughter could care for the woman who has stolen her mother's rightful place?"
"But Fran won't have the truth declared; if it weren't for her, Bob would have told you long ago."
"Suppose I were in Fran's place—would I have kept the secret to spare man or woman? No! Fran doesn't care a penny for your wife. She couldn't. It would be monstrous—unnatural. But she's always hated me. That's why she acts as she does—to triumph over me. I see it all. That is the reason she won't have the truth declared—she doesn't want me to know that you are—are free."
Grace started up from the desk, her face deathly white. She was tottering, but when Gregory would have leaped to her side, she whispered, "They would see us." Suddenly her face became crimson. He caught his breath, speechless before her imperial loveliness.
"Mr. Gregory!" her eyes were burning into his, "have you told me all the secret?"
"Yes—all."