“Do go on with the story, I am impatient,” she said eagerly.
Miss Gray’s face flushed a little as she started, but the flush soon died away and left her composed and natural.
“I am the daughter of a rich man in this city,” she began, “and I married a man quite out of my own circle of society. At least, I thought I was married to him, but the wretch had deceived me! I found it out when it was too late. I did not dare to admit it. Since then I have lived under an assumed name in this city, although we are supposed to be abroad. That wretch that you saw last night was my ‘make believe’ husband!”
“But your father?” asked Marion in breathless interest. “Would he not take you back and punish the villain?”
“He would, yes, for he is a noble man,” was the sad answer; “but my brother and sister are in society—my sister is engaged to be married I hear—it would injure them terribly should my story be known. For their sakes I have suffered and shall continue to suffer.”
“Oh, that is terrible! terrible!” cried her companion sorrowfully. “But, thank Heaven, you have been strong enough to leave him at last! Your life there must have been dreadful! Oh, how I pity you!”
“A drunken brute is not a very desirable companion,” said the woman scornfully, “and oh, the deeds of that infamous man! And to think that I had to witness them, yes, and even to protect him in them!”
“You were a martyr to your family. Miss Gray,” was the soft answer. “I cannot believe that you did right; still, I must not judge you.”
“Right! I should say not!” cried Miss Gray with a flush of shame. “I was his dupe, his tool! I did not dare to oppose him! Oh, to think that a woman could fall so low—why, Miss Marlowe, women came there and I had to meet them; but, thank God, I came to my senses in time to save the innocent!”
“I shall never forget it,” said Marion, softly. “And now, Miss Gray, I must tell you my day’s experience.”