But Venna, recovering, drew herself up haughtily.
"How dare you come here with such falsehoods!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Leave my house at once."
"That is how we all act, until we find out what men really are," replied the woman with a scornful pity. "It's hard to wake up to what the world really is, isn't it? Perhaps you don't think I'm sorry for you!"
"I will not listen to you," exclaimed Venna proudly. "Will you please go?"
The woman scrutinized Venna keenly. "No, you are not acting," she said coolly. "You'd rather believe in him than in me—naturally. But he'll soon run through all your money as he did his own, and then you'll be glad to have me tell you a little more about your ideal. Here is my card," she added, laying one upon the table. "I will come when you send for me," and with a smile, half contempt, half compassion, she was gone.
For a moment, Venna stood, deep in troubled thought. Who was this woman? What did it all mean? As her anger cooled, awful doubts crept into her mind and she trembled with fear. Could there be any truth in it? Had she been unwise not to listen? Yet that would have been treachery to Will. But suppose—she heard her aunt's voice calling her. Hastily she put the woman's card in her dress.
"Auntie must not know of this," she determined. A dull, heavy depression seized her. This was her first experience with a hidden trial, for trial it would be until Will could explain—of course, he would explain—but she would have to ponder over the mystery of it for a week.
It seemed unbearable. She decided to write to Will and ask him to come sooner.
She took up a pen and tried to write, but couldn't. Was it not wrong to doubt him that much even? Was it possible she could be so disloyal? In her self-condemnation, she was as unhappy as in her doubt.
Unobserved, her aunt entered.