"I am Mrs. Hadly," replied Venna with dignity, "Why did you wish so to see me?"
"When you know what I have to say, you'll be glad you let me speak with you," the woman replied in a low, even tone. "Are we entirely alone? Sit near to me, please," she added, seating herself and drawing a chair close to her own for Venna.
"Is your business so private?" Venna asked curiously, as she seated herself, calmly amused at her visitor's impertinence.
The woman's face softened.
"You look rather young and innocent. I thought somehow you would be different. More like one of the haughty society women who wouldn't cast a glance at anyone outside their set!"
"All society women are not so," returned Venna, smiling. "But why should you picture me like that?"
"Only as his wife," the woman replied bitterly. "You're not his style, believe me. But the money did it—always the money does it."
"I don't understand you," returned Venna, rising indignantly. "If you have come here to insult me, whatever your motive, I must ask you to leave."
The woman rose, too, and laid a hand on Venna's arm.
"I tell you, I'm sorry for you. I don't want to hurt a girl like you. But now I'm here, I'll have it out. I came to hurt him, not you. I hate him. You understand? I hate him. I gave him five years of my youth, and we—yes, your husband and myself—have a little girl. I loved him—my God! How I loved him! I gave him more than you ever gave. And then he threw me over to marry money. Not you, girl, but your money! And I searched him out. I came to New York to find his wife and ruin him. Here, girl! Don't take it so hard; sit down. You're faint, aren't you? I'm sorry I let it out so blunt. I should have gone easier—yes, you've got to suffer, too, poor thing!" And she put her arm around Venna for support.