“If that were all—” he said, with hesitation. “But I could not know. I thought that the paragraph might disturb him for another reason—that it might be a cause of unhappiness between you and him—”
There was a pause. “You don’t understand,” said Mrs. Winnie, at last.
Without turning his head he could see her hands, as they lay upon her knees. She was moving them nervously. “You don’t understand,” she repeated.
When she began to’ speak again, it was in a low, trembling voice. “I must tell you,” she said; “I have felt sure that you did not know.”
There was another pause. She hesitated, and her hands trembled; then suddenly she hurried on.—“I wanted you to know. I do not love my husband. I am not bound to him. He has nothing to say in my affairs.”
Montague sat rigid, turned to stone. He was half dazed by the words. He could feel Mrs. Winnie’s gaze fixed upon him; and he could feel the hot flush that spread over her throat and cheeks.
“It—it was not fair for you not to know,” she whispered. And her voice died away, and there was again a silence. Montague was dumb.
“Why don’t you say something?” she panted, at last; and he caught the note of anguish in her voice. Then he turned and stared at her, and saw her tightly clenched hands, and the quivering of her lips.
He was shocked quite beyond speech. And he saw her bosom heaving quickly, and saw the tears start into her eyes. Suddenly she sank down, and covered her face with her hands and broke into frantic sobbing.
“Mrs. Winnie!” he cried; and started to his feet.