She remained embattled, and yet with the hovering sense of defeat, striving to explain the catastrophe.
"Ah, if I had had a child this never could have happened!" she cried all at once, striking her forehead.
Despite his assurance, the next day, after a night of horror, she called up a dozen friends, seeking fruitlessly to learn of the woman. She consulted three of her most particular confidantes as to what course she should adopt. All three agreed on absolute resistance. The first said to her:
"My dear, treat him as a friend. Be sympathetic! Find out who she is. Point out to him that she is intriguing for his money. Act, not as an enemy, but as an adviser!"
The second added:
"Pretend to consider the proposition; then ask him for a year's delay, for his sake and for yours, to be sure that it is not a passing infatuation. In a year, especially if there is no opposition, great changes can take place!"
The third agreed with the others, with this addition:
"In a year he will either grow tired of her, or she will have become his mistress, and he may become thoroughly satisfied with the arrangement. Whatever you do, delay!"
At four o'clock, as the last adviser was hurrying out, Massingale entered. She was instantly struck with the intensity of the emotion that consumed him, which laid the telltale shadows of its fatigue in the hollows about his eyes and the stern drawn lines of his mouth.
"Before we go any further," she said carefully, "since I am to be sacrificed, may I at least ask you a few questions?"