"She'd hardly look at the case in that light," he said. But Julia was impervious to irony.
"He should have considered me first," she said. "Why do men always sacrifice the one they love best? It's a kind of cruel unselfishness. I was his dearest, a part of himself, and so—and so I'm to bear this trial—! But he might have trusted me!"
She was either laughing or sobbing, he was not sure which; the cloak that muffled her hid her face; but her voice raged on, half furious, half triumphant.
"Of course, she's blackmailing him," she said. "That wretch has got him in the hollow of her hand! If he disowned her it would all come out, and it would disgrace his mother. He was always quixotic. And so he is temporizing till he can bribe her to disappear. But Lady Henrietta has no claim on my forbearance!"
She had to pause for breath, and he managed to get in his word.
"I am going to advise you," he said, "to keep quiet over this."
They had come to the end of the street, and were walking back. A dazzle of lights in the distance marked the Corn Exchange. A motor whirred past, its lamps sending a brief glare that was like a searchlight. Already a few were leaving.
"Why?" she said, staring at him.
"You'll be a fool if you talk," he said. "If Barnaby is holding his tongue for his mother's sake, is it likely he'll give way? And you have no proofs. Whatever you say, he'll deny it. He mightn't forgive you, either. Be sensible.... Wait a bit, and I'll make inquiries."
It struck her then as odd that he had accepted her words himself, without argument, with no incredulous opposition, such as she was beginning to realize must fall to her lot if she published her tale abroad.