“We both brought it!” she repeated obstinately.
“Very well. I mean only that the trouble——”
“Makes it unlikely that I shall find another husband?” she said. “Pray be frank with me! That,” rising and going to the window, and then turning to confront him, “is what you mean, is it not? That is exactly what you mean, I am sure?”
“Something of that kind, perhaps,” he admitted.
“But you forget Mr. Sutton!” she said—and paused. She took one step forward, and her eyes shone. “You forget Mr. Sutton, Captain Clyne. The gentleman to whom you handed me over! To whom you gave so clear a certainty that I was for the first comer who was willing. He is willing, quite willing!”
“But——”
“And it cannot be said that he did not behave gallantly on Sunday night! I am told——”
“He behaved admirably.”
“And he is willing!” she flung the word at him—“quite willing to marry me—disgraced as I am! As you have always, always hinted I am! And not out of pity, Captain Clyne. Let us be frank with one another. You were very frank with me once—more than frank.” She held out her wrist, which was still faintly discoloured. “When a man does that to a woman,” she said, “she either loves him, sir, or hates him.”
“Yes,” he said slowly—very slowly. “I see. Your mind is made up, then——”