"That you are going on with a married man. That you are his mistress," she said, putting it at its crudest, since Nan wanted plain speaking.
Nan sat quite still, smoking. The silence thrilled with Mrs. Hilary's passion.
"I see," Nan said at last. "And it's no use my denying it. In that case I won't." Her voice was smooth and clear and still, like cold water. "You know the man's name too, I presume?"
"Of course. Everyone knows it. I tell you, Nan, everyone's talking of you and him. A town topic, Rosalind calls it."
"Rosalind would. Town must be very dull just now, if that's all they have to talk of."
"But it's not the scandal I'm thinking of," Mrs. Hilary went on, "though, God knows, that's bad enough—I'm thankful Father died when he did and was spared it—but the thing itself. The awful, awful thing itself. Have you no shame, Nan?"
"Not much."
"For all our sakes. Not for mine—I know you don't care a rap for that—but for Neville, whom you do profess to love...."
"I should think we might leave Neville out of it. She's shown no signs of believing any story about me."
"Well, she does believe it, you may depend upon it. No one could help it. People write from here saying it's an open fact."