The wife's hands shook—her eyes were greedy for an answer.
'Oh! it was all miserable!' said Eugénie, with a gesture of emotion. 'It made my father very angry, and we could not be friends any more—as we had been. And Mr. Fenwick had a wretched winter. He was ill—and his painting seemed to go wrong—and he was terribly in need of money—and then came that day at the theatre—'
'I know,' whispered Phoebe, hanging on the speaker's lips—'when he saw Carrie?'
'It nearly killed him,' said Eugénie, gently. 'It was like a light kindled, and then blown out.'
Phoebe leant her head against the table before her, and began to sob—
'If I'd never let her go up that day! When we first landed I didn't know what to do—I couldn't make up my mind. We'd taken lodgings down at Guildford—near some acquaintances we'd made in Canada. And the girl was a great friend of Carrie's—we used to stay with them sometimes in Montreal. She had acted a little at Halifax and Montreal—and she wanted an opening in London—and somebody told her to apply at that theatre—I forget its name.'
'Halifax!' cried Eugénie—'Halifax, Nova Scotia? Oh, now I understand! We have searched England through. The stage-manager said one of the young ladies mentioned Halifax. Nobody ever thought—'
She paused. Phoebe said nothing; she was grappling with some of the new ideas presented to her.
'And this was his second search, you know,' said Eugénie, laying a hand timidly on Phoebe's shoulder. 'He had done all he could—when you left him. But when he lost sight of Carrie again—and so of you both—it wore his heart out. I can see it did. He is a broken man.' Her voice trembled. 'Oh, you will have to nurse—to comfort him. He has been in despair about his art—in despair about everything. He—'
But she checked herself. The rest was for him to tell.