"Poor child! What is it that you don't believe?"
His calm, assured tones had the force of a denial.
"Walter—if you'd only say it isn't true—"
"What Edith told you?"
"Edith? Your sister? No; about that woman—that you—that she—"
"Why are you bringing all that up again, at this unearthly hour?"
"Then," she said coldly, "it is true."
His silence lay between them like a sword.
She had rehearsed this scene many times in the five hours; but she had not prepared herself for this. Her dread had been held captive by her belief, her triumphant anticipation of Majendie's denial.
Presently he spoke; and his voice was strange to her as the voice of another man.