Mr. Shawyer did not answer. Against his better judgment he was conscious of a most unwilling pity for this girl. He knew the whole story now, had heard it that morning from Forrester's lips, so perhaps it was not altogether without intention that presently he said quietly:
"My dear child, there is ... Mr. Digby!"
Faith flushed scarlet from her throat to her hair. Such an expression of revolt and fear crossed her face that for a moment she no longer looked a child, but a woman who has lived a lifetime of bitter experience.
"If you knew—how I ... hate him," she said, and quite suddenly she broke down, hiding her face in her hands, her slender body shaken with passionate sobbing.
Mr. Shawyer rose. He made her sit down, and stood beside her, keeping a hand on her shoulder.
"My dear," he said, "I am an old man, and you are only a child! Is it too late for me to try and put things right between you and your husband?"
Faith shook her head.
"He hates me ... he'll never forgive me ... last night ... oh, I shall never forget his eyes!"
Mr. Shawyer walked a step or two away from her, then came back resolutely.
"Perhaps I shall be doing no good by my interference," he said gently. "But at least I can do no harm, when I tell you that my belief is that your husband has never ceased to care for you! No, no—he has said nothing to me——" he hastened to add, as Faith raised a face flushed with eager hope. "But I pride myself that I know him very well, and therefore I believe that he still has a great regard for you. When he came to me this morning he was utterly broken down—he had lost everything at one blow—his wife, his friend, and that brave girl Peg."