A feeling of exultant joy—of relief which pierced so keenly that it was akin to pain, filled Athena Maule's soul. She had indeed been well inspired to tell Jane all that was in her heart—and Hew's. And here was Richard actually saying so! For, "You chose a most excellent Mercury," he observed dryly.
"You mean Jane Oglander?" her voice again shook a little. "She was not my messenger. She asked my permission to speak to you——"
"Yes, I mean Jane Oglander. She showed me where my duty lay. For a while I hesitated between two courses—for you know, Athena, there were two courses open to me."
She looked at him without speaking. How cruel, how—how unmanly, of Richard to say this! And how futile. There was only one moment when he could have divorced her. Providence had stood her friend by choosing just that moment to make him ill. Since then—she thought she had learnt enough English law to know that—he would be held to have condoned.
But her look made him feel ashamed. The javelin does not thus play with its victim.
"I beg your pardon," he muttered almost inaudibly.
"I know you have always hated me," she said passionately.
"You have not known that always," he answered sombrely—and for a moment she hung her head.
"Perhaps now, Richard, we may be better friends."
She reminded herself that in old days—in the days when she had been his idol, his goddess—she had had a certain contemptuous fondness for her husband. She would be generous—now. Jane had taught her that it was good to be generous.