“Do you remember that night before I was married, when we sat here together, and I told you how I felt?”
He nodded, his eyes still holding hers.
“I told you that the one supreme test of a man, to me, was his honesty, that I—I couldn’t go on as Mabel Gardner did, living with a man I knew to be false. I can’t! It’s—it’s just that, papa, I can’t go on. I had to come home to you!”
“You mean that Faunce is dishonest?” he managed to ask, after another moment of silence.
She caught her breath, her eyes dilating with pain.
“Yes, it’s—it’s worse than that. Oh, papa, how can I tell you?” She held out her arms to him with a cry like a child in pain.
But he held her off with his uplifted hand, still searching her face.
“Is it about Overton?”
“Yes—yes!” She turned and sank down in the chair, hiding her face in her hands. “I’ll try to tell you,” she went on in a choked voice. “Overton came back; he came up to the Catskills. We went—I didn’t tell you, Arthur didn’t want any letters—we went up to the lodge two weeks ago; you know I had the keys. While we were there, Overton came to see his aunt, who lives near by. We met, and as soon as I saw him I knew that something was wrong. He wouldn’t tell me, but I knew. A woman knows those things about her husband. That night Arthur came home; he had been down in New York, and he went to see Overton. When he came back he told me. He——”
She stopped, choked with her sense of shame. Her father, greatly moved and changed, came slowly across the room and stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder.