"What did you tell him?"
"What I see now I ought to have told you—as well as him—long ago. Henderson is my maiden name. I was a married woman for three years. I had a child which died. I divorced my husband, and he's still alive."
The colour had flamed back into her cheeks. Janet sat silent, her eyes fixed on Rachel's.
"I did tell you I had a story, didn't I?" said Rachel insistently.
"You did. I took my chance. It was you who—who brought the action?"
"I brought the action. There was no defence. And the judge said—I'd been awfully badly treated—it was no wonder I wanted—to get free. Well, there it is. I'm sorry I deceived you. I'm sorry I deceived him."
"You didn't deceive me," said Janet. "I had practically guessed it." She rose slowly, and going up to Rachel, she put her hands on her shoulders,—
"Why didn't you tell me, you poor thing!" Her voice and eyes were full of emotion—full of pity. But Rachel shrank away a little from her touch, murmuring under her breath, "Because I wanted never to hear of it—or think of it again." Then, after a pause, she added, "But if you want to know more, I'll tell you. It's your right. My married name was Delane."
"Don't tell me any more!" said Janet peremptorily. "I don't want to hear it. But you ought to be—quite frank—with him."
"I know that. Naturally—it was a great shock to him."