"Treachery?"
"Yes, treachery." Freddy thought that Meg meant treachery on her lover's part. She had thought of treachery from enemies. Had some one forestalled Michael with the treasure?
He paused. What could he tell her next?
"Oh, go on!" Meg cried. "For heaven's sake, don't spare me! A woman can stand almost anything, Freddy, anything but uncertainty."
"Can she stand unfaithfulness, Meg, dishonour?" Freddy's eyes dropped. He could not inflict upon himself the pain which Meg's trusting eyes would cause him.
A cry rang through the room. "No, not that, not that! Go on, go on—what more?" As she spoke, she threw up her head. "It's a lie, Freddy, a hideous lie!"
"I'm afraid there must be some truth in the story, Meg." Freddy's voice was terrible. It conveyed his reluctant, yet absolute, belief that her lover was guilty. Before he had finished speaking, another cry rang through the room. It startled Freddy with its intensity, its rage and independence.
"I tell you it's a lie! It's not true! And what's more, until I hear it from his own lips, I will never believe a word of the scandal."
"Poor old chum!" Freddy tried to comfort her with the assurance of his sympathy.
Meg flashed round upon him. "Don't pity me! Don't dare to pity me!
It's all the basest treachery. I'll have no pity. I don't need it!"