"Pray explain yourself," he answered. "I give you my word of honor that your speech and manner simply mystify me. What dreadful fate awaits you, Mrs. Vance?"
She turned upon him a moment with flashing eyes, then looked down again as she answered in low, intense tones:
"Do you not understand, Lance, what my pride shrinks from telling you in plain terms?—the bitter truth that my stay with you last night at the Dabney Hotel has irretrievably compromised my fair fame in the eyes of the carping and censorious world?"
She paused, and Lancelot Darling sat still and motionless like one stricken with paralysis.
"Oh! that is impossible," he said at last. "No one knows of our accident."
"All New York will know it to-morrow," she said, bitterly. "Ill news flies apace. To-morrow the finger of scorn will be lifted against me on every hand. Perhaps even Mr. Lawrence will turn me out of doors."
The reproach and passion had died out of her voice. It was full of pathetic pity for her own sorrow.
"Surely it cannot be as bad as you fear," said Lance, startled and troubled.
"Alas! it is too sadly true!" she said, mournfully.
"What can I do to remedy your trouble?" he inquired, his native chivalry rising to the surface in defense of the woman he had unwittingly injured.