She shrank back abashed before it, but he slowly shook his head.
She was safe—he could not forget that she bore his name, however unworthily.
"I ask you again, sir," said the actress, in a voice that demanded reply, "why did you strike the glass from my hand?"
"Madam, I—I—pardon me, I was excited, I knew not what I did!" he stammered, not daring to meet her searching gaze.
Suddenly Queenie uttered a cry of grief and terror. A little pet dog had left his cushion in the corner and lapped up the spilled wine from the floor with its tiny, pointed tongue.
Now, after a few, unsteady motions, and two or three whining moans of pain, it uttered one sharp, despairing yelp, rolled over upon the carpet and expired.
After Queenie's one terrified cry a dead silence reigned throughout the room.
Sydney dropped into a chair, trembling so that she could not stand, and put her hands before her face. Her sin had found her out.
Queenie would certainly revenge herself now by revealing her identity. What mercy could she expect from the sister she had hated and tried to murder?
"I understand your reluctance to explain yourself now, sir," said the voice of the actress, falling on her ears like the knell of doom. "You would shield your wife!"