He straightened his shoulders, meeting her glance squarely—almost sternly.
“Did you imagine that I should?” he asked quietly.
“No, no, I suppose not.” She looked away. “What a mess I made of things, didn't I? However, it's all past now; the game's nearly over, thank Heaven! Life, since that day”—the eyes of the man and woman met again in swift understanding—“has been one long hell.”
“He—the man you married—”
“Made that hell. I left him after six years of it, taking the child with me.”
“The child?” A curious expression came into his eyes, resentful, yet tinged at the same time with an oddly tender interest. “Was there a child?”
“Yes—I have a little daughter.”
“And did your husband never trace you?” he asked, after a pause.
“He never tried to”—grimly. “Afterwards—well, it was downhill all the way. I didn't know how to work, and by that time I had learned my health was going. Since then, I've lived on the proceeds of the pawnshop—I had my jewels, you know—and on the odd bits of money I could scrape together by taking in sewing.”
A groan burst from the man's dry lips.