"It seems to me that the silence you have kept so long ought to be preserved still. What good would come of speaking now?"
"They ought to know," he said, uneasily.
"But why, Mr. Meredith? You would only distress them if you told your story now. They have heard from me my mother's story and Flower's. They know that she drowned herself because of the dishonor of her birth. Do you think, proud as they are, that they would be pleased to know that the daughter of poor, erring Daisy Forrest had been your wife?"
His face flushed deeply, then his brown eyes flashed.
"It was cruel of you to tell them that. Why need you have done it?" he exclaimed; and Jewel burst into tears, sobbing out that she had been so wretched, and wanted some one to sympathize with her so much, that she could not help speaking.
He waited till she had done sobbing, then asked:
"And the people in Virginia—your old home. You let them know the truth at least. You promised me you would as soon as the Reverend Mr. Archer came home from Europe."
"But he never came home," Jewel answered.
And he told himself that he was mistaken in fancying that there was a ring of malicious triumph in her voice. Surely she would be only too glad to have the honor of her sister vindicated, and he echoed, dismally:
"Never came home!"