"Nobody understands me but you!" she cried out to Chichester. "You knew what he was, you knew what I endured, you know what I must feel now. Oh, it's no use pretending. I'm sick of pretence. You have taught me to care for absolute truth and only that. My relations, my friends—ah! to-day I have been almost suffocated with hypocrisy! And now, when I come here—" she flung out her hand toward Mailing—"to get away from it all—'grieved,' 'my sympathy!' I can't bear any more of that. Tell him! You tell him! You're so strong, so terribly sincere! One can rest upon your strength when all else fails one!"
She tottered. For an instant it seemed to Malling that she was going to fall against Chichester's shoulder; but she caught at a chair, and saved herself.
"Mr. Chichester!" she said, "tell him! Tell him for me!"
"I have nothing to tell him," said Chichester, with a sort of mild, almost weak coldness, and wearily.
"Nothing!" She went nearer to him. "But—you don't welcome me!"
Chichester looked up, but immediately cast down his eyes again.
"I cannot," he said. "At this moment I simply cannot."
An expression of terrified surprise transformed Lady Sophia's face. She went close up to Chichester, staring at him.
"Why not?" she asked.
"You must know that."