“But if old Lee has suspected that things were wrong, why in heaven’s name did he not warn you?” asked Veronica.
“He didn’t suspect anything,” replied Mr. Baldwin. “He disliked Wrexham personally, but he could have given no reason for doing so. Besides, unless he had had something definite to tell, you couldn’t expect the poor fellow to have risked losing his daily bread by talking against his employers. Ten to one, had he come to me, I would have thought him mad. No, that blackguard has deceived every one.”
For some minutes they sat still, Geoffrey moodily staring into the fire. Then he repeated his old question.
“How am I to tell Marion, Veronica?”
“Shall I do so for you?” she said.
“I wish to Heaven you would!” he ejaculated. “It would be the greatest proof of friendship you have ever shewn me, which is saying a good deal.”
“I will do it if you so much wish it,” she replied, “still I do not feel sure it is right for anyone to break it to her but yourself—her husband. I think too you misjudge her in thinking this sort of bad news is likely to shock and prostrate her as you seem to imagine it will. Your wife is no fool, Geoffrey: she is a brave-spirited woman, and will find strength to suffer and work for those she loves.”
“Ah, yes,” he replied, with a groan, “had all been different in other respects, she would not have been found wanting. But you don’t know all, Veronica. You never can. It was the only thing I could give her—a home and all that money could buy! And now, my darling will, for the first time in her life, be brought through me face to face with poverty. It is too horrible.”
Miss Temple said nothing, but she had her own thoughts nevertheless.
They decided that the following day when Geoffrey returned home he should tell his wife that Miss Veronica was anxious to see her, and should arrange for her driving over as soon as possible to her friend’s cottage.