"No."
The word came from her lips before she knew she had uttered it. It seemed as though her heart spoke for her. John Castlemaine breathed a sigh of satisfaction.
"He was a bad, selfish, cynical man all the time, Olive," he said. "In no possible light was his conduct excusable. A drunkard I could have forgiven, if that were all, although you could never have married a drunkard——"
"No," said Olive quietly.
"But to—no, I will not repeat it. The man forfeited all right to respect."
"I want to get back home, father; I want to take up my work. I was a coward to come away; let us go back with Mr. Sackville."
"Impossible, my dear; still, I will not keep you here against your will. Perhaps to-morrow—but read your letters, Olive."
Almost mechanically she turned to her letters, and read them. They were of no importance, and she skimmed them carelessly. Then she unfastened the wrapper of one of the newspapers, and began to read. A minute later she uttered a cry of pain as it fell from her hands.
"What is it, my dear?"
She did not speak; but looked away with a stony stare towards the shining sea in the distance.