As he drew nearer, she stopped, more because she did not know what else to do than from any wish to see him. Her first impulse, indeed, had been one of flight, and she suspended it only because, in the hedged lane, there was no convenient way to flee. Something of what she felt—her trepidation, which almost amounted to sheer fright—showed in her eyes and her reluctant attitude, and he saw it. He halted a few yards away and stood looking at her.
“You don’t wish to see me?”
The note of pain in his voice sent a thrill of answering pain through her heart. Unconsciously she held out her hand.
“I do—only it’s hard—after all I’ve been told!”
Her broken words touched him deeply. He realized that she felt a vicarious share in her husband’s guilt toward him, and he caught her hand in both of his.
“He should never have told you. I tried to save you that!” he exclaimed.
She drew her hand gently away.
“You did wrong, then. He was right to tell me—I had to know.”
“But why?”
He had turned with her, and they walked on through the light rain. She looked up, her mind clearing.