“No,” he answered quietly. “She didn’t hate him. She loved him.”
Jean stared at him in frank astonishment. She had never dreamed that there had been any other woman than Jacqueline in Glyn’s life.
“Mrs. Craig—and my father?” she exclaimed incredulously.
“She wasn’t Mrs. Craig in those days. She was Judith Burke.”
“Well, but——” persisted Jean, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. “I still don’t see why.”
“Why what?”—unwillingly.
“Why she looked as if she loathed the very sight of me. That’s not”—drily—“quite the effect you would expect love to produce!”
There was a curiously abstracted look in Tormarin’s eyes as he made answer.
“Love is productive of very curious effects on occasion. More particularly when it is without hope of fulfilment,” he added in a lower tone.
“Well, I suppose my father couldn’t help not falling in love with Mrs. Craig,” protested Jean with some warmth. “Nor could he have prevented her caring for him. And it’s certainly illogical of her to feel any resentment towards me on that score. I had nothing to do with it.”