And she began to weep again, passionately. There was no pride about her now. She cried out her suffering and loss, with heartbroken sobs.
"I know I haven't always been good, I've been hard sometimes and took my own way and wouldn't give in—but I wouldn't have done what he has done.... I wouldn't have deceived him or hurt him as he has hurt me.... I wouldn't have broken our marriage, but he has done it.... It shows that he didn't care for it, it didn't mean much to him.... I thought he loved me, but because I wasn't everything he wanted, he took another woman ... there, in the same house with me.... And he doesn't love her either, I know he doesn't, he sinned from weakness, low temptation—oh, I wouldn't have believed it of him. I knew in some ways he was worldly, but I always thought he was honest and sincere, I was proud of him ... but now...."
When she grew quiet again, and raised her tear-blurred face, it was to see a dim light outside the windows—the stormy dawn.
"Oh, poor Hilary!" she cried. "I've kept you up all night—you haven't slept a wink!"
"That's nothing," he answered gently. "I often have sleepless nights."
XII
Then, forgetting him, she stared at the dim light of the window, her eyes wide open and fixed, her lips parted with long shuddering sighs. Slowly her breathing grew quieter. Hilary watched her face.