“So you see I had to think of something—some way. And it was you yourself who suggested this method.”
“I?”—incredulously.
“Yes. Don’t you remember what you told me that day I drove you back from Dartmoor ‘A woman’s happiness depends upon her reputation.’”
She looked at him quickly, recalling the scattered details of that afternoon—Burke’s gibes at what he believed to be her fear of gossiping tongues and her own answer to his taunts: “No woman can afford to ignore scandal.” And then, following upon that, his sudden, curious absorption in his own thoughts.
The remembrance of it all was like a torchlight flashed into a dark place, illuminating what had been hidden and inscrutable. She spoke swiftly.
“And it was then—that afternoon—you thought of this?”
He bent his head.
“Yes,” he acknowledged.
Jean was silent. It was all clear now—penetratingly so.
“And the Holfords? Are there any such people?” she asked drearily.