He was sorrier as he observed the effect of it, but he could not soften the shock for her by any outward participation in her grief. Since he must speak at all, he must speak as he did.
"Oh, to hear of such a thing!" she gasped. "Oh, to think that—well—— Oh, Mr. Heriot, I can't ... it can't be true. Isn't it some mistake? Dear Mamie would never be so wicked, I'm sure she wouldn't! It's some awful mistake, you may depend."
"There's no mistake, Mrs. Baines. My authority is your niece herself. She left a letter to tell me she was going, and why."
The widow moaned feebly.
"With another man?"
He bowed.
"Oh, Heaven will punish her, Mr. Heriot! Oh, what will her father say—how could she do it! And you—how gentle and kind to her you were I could see."
"I did my best to make her happy," he said; "evidently I didn't succeed. Is it necessary for us to talk about it much? Believe me, you have my sympathy, but talking won't improve matters."
"Oh, but I can't look at it so—so calmly, Mr. Heriot! The disgrace! and so sudden. And it isn't for me to have your sympathy, I'm sure. I say it isn't for you to sympathise with me. My heart bleeds for you, Mr. Heriot."
"You're very good," he answered; "but I don't know that a faithless wife is much to grieve for after all."