"I'm afraid that she was."
She stood straight up. She drew a long breath. She looked down at me. When she spoke her voice trembled--half with passion, half with scorn.
"I see! Now I understand your story very well, and just what happened in the train. And you are the man who has always held himself up to me as different to other men--as a model of what a man should be. And all the time you have had this story in your life; and how many more besides?"
"You are very hard on me, my dear. I assure you, this is the only one."
"So you tell me now. Not long ago you told me there was not one."
"I have always meant to tell you all about it."
"Indeed? Then how skilfully you have concealed your meaning! I suppose that, like other men, when you wearied of your light-o'-love you cast her from you. Years afterwards she meets you in the train. She takes advantage of the opportunity--probably the first opportunity which has offered--to tell you what she thinks of you. Your coward conscience plays you such tricks that you try to flee from her, even at the peril of your life. She will not let you off so easily, so you threw her from the train."
"I did not. I never laid a hand on her. So far as I was concerned, it was pure accident. I swear it."
"Whether that is true or not can only be known to your God, and you."
Lucy turned on her heels. Without another word she left the room.