Craige moved forward a few hesitating steps and then halted. An irresistible attraction which he could not conquer drew his eyes toward Cecelia Parsons. Whatever emotion he felt he controlled admirably. He stood for a moment motionless, then, without glancing to right or left, he squared his shoulders and swinging around strode arrogantly from the library, the two men on either side walking rapidly to keep up with him.
The silence in the library grew oppressive and Kitty was conscious of a feeling almost of nausea when Nina Potter came toward her.
“Kitty,” she said brokenly. “I did you a very great wrong when I wore your red coat to come here on Sunday night with Leigh.”
“Did you not do your husband a greater wrong?” Kitty asked swiftly.
“No.” Nina flushed scarlet. “I am a coward, but I am a loyal wife.”
“I am entirely to blame,” Leigh Wallace turned and addressed Potter directly. “I was once engaged to your wife. We quarreled and she broke it off. I never saw or heard from her again until we met this winter. Nina would not let me pay her any attention, so, forgive me, Kitty, I went with you because I could be with Nina without arousing talk,” he hesitated.
No one spoke, and, after an instant’s pause, Wallace continued:
“On Saturday night Oscar brought me a note from Miss Susan Baird asking me to come here on Sunday at five o’clock. I did take the peaches from Mrs. Parsons’ table on a silly impulse, for I knew Miss Baird was fond of them and thought that I could placate her with a gift.
“When I got here she told me how my father had jilted her and of her hatred of me. She declared that she had secured, through bribing one of Nina’s servants, some old love letters of mine—they were undated, and she proposed showing them to Ben Potter. I tried in every way to induce her to return them to me, even offering a large sum of money. She ordered me out of the house,” he paused. “Then I went to Nina and asked her to see Miss Baird and try to get her to give up the letters.”
“So I came over here with Leigh on Sunday night,” Nina Potter took up the story. “Miss Susan had loaned me your red coat, Kitty, last Wednesday to wear home when it blew up so cold. The coat is distinctive in appearance, and—well—” she faltered—“I knew if any one saw me, there was a chance I might be mistaken for you. Afterwards I got rid of the coat by selling it to a second-hand dealer.” She caught her husband’s averted gaze and colored painfully.