“An acquaintance? No, no—of course not. Don’t think me presumptuous and inquisitive. I should never have mentioned it, if I had not a reason—a good reason. Have I ever seemed to pry into your affairs?”
He softened at that.
“Never! Never! You have been all that is tactful—all that is kind. I do trust you, Miss Harding, but this affair of Hallett’s gets me on the raw. He has suffered tortures. I have seen his suffering, and I can’t help feeling bitter against that woman. She—left him! That’s what you heard, I suppose?”
“Yes. And so soon! It was a tragedy indeed. Mr Thorold, will you answer just one question? It can do no harm; it can give away no secrets. What was her Christian name?”
He looked at me keenly for a moment, and then said quietly:—
“Charmion.”
I lay back in my chair, and shut my eyes. Never in my life have I fainted, but I think I must have come very near it then. Everything turned black; for a moment my very heart seemed to stop. Mr Thorold’s voice sounded far away, as he cried anxiously:—
“You are ill—faint! I’ll open the window—give you more air.” Then with an eagerness which could not be suppressed, “You know her? Hallett’s wife? Is it possible? You have met her; or—have you only heard—”
His anxiety made his voice shake. He was as much overcome as I was myself.
“For six years,” he added tragically—“six years he has searched the world—.”