“I have seen your husband.”
“Tell me at once. Why do you hesitate?” Lady Mildred cried vehemently.
“It is difficult to explain what happened. It was as I thought. Your letter has wounded him deeply, and I am afraid that you must go to him, if you wish to be forgiven.”
“Forgiveness!” Lady Mildred repeated scornfully.
“Yes. You, I think, are in the wrong. If you take my advice you will order the car and go to London at once. You would get there by ten o’clock.”
“Why should I go to him? It is I who have been wronged, and he must come to me.”
“If that is your state of mind, then I fear that you will remain apart. It is a pity, for I am convinced that you are both passionately in love with one another. Pride is responsible for the ruin of many lives, and I pray you not to be stupid, dear,” Lady Ethel said gently.
Lady Mildred was silent, and it was evident that she was struggling with herself. It was strange to find that her sister’s sympathy was so decidedly in favor of her husband, and she began to wonder if, after all, she herself might be to blame. But the scene in court came back to her mind, and she could hear the counsel’s words as he described the charge against Gaunt.
And while she fought with her pride, she was conscious that her love for John Gaunt was burning fiercely, and that if he were to appear she would receive him with widely opened arms.
“I went to Park Lane, and no one was there,” Lady Ethel continued quietly. “I chanced to pass your husband’s room and I saw many trunks there, so I imagine that he is going away.”