“I am not Dr. Edwardes here; my name is Le Moyne.”
“Ah!”
“I have not seen you since you left St. John's.”
“No; I—I rested for a few months.”
“I suppose they do not know that you were—that you have had any previous hospital experience.”
“No. Are you going to tell them?”
“I shall not tell them, of course.”
And thus, by simple mutual consent, it was arranged that each should respect the other's confidence.
Carlotta staggered to her room. There had been a time, just before dawn, when she had had one of those swift revelations that sometimes come at the end of a long night. She had seen herself as she was. The boy was very low, hardly breathing. Her past stretched behind her, a series of small revenges and passionate outbursts, swift yieldings, slow remorse. She dared not look ahead. She would have given every hope she had in the world, just then, for Sidney's stainless past.
She hated herself with that deadliest loathing that comes of complete self-revelation.