"Wait awhile, and you'll see. That is, if she tells the truth. Most women don't. I've got to the point where I don't care. How good-looking you are, Flea! Not exactly pretty, but stylish, and that's better. Beauty doesn't count for anything after a woman is married."
David had not sat down, and looked so uncomfortable while his hostess talked that his sister came to his help.
"You'd like to look at the garden and stable, I know, David. We will excuse you; but don't be gone long. I can stay but half an hour or so."
"I'll send for you when the snack comes," cried Mrs. Tayloe after him as he went down the steps; and to Flea, "Now we can have a comfortable, confidential chat."
David had said she had "broken." Flea thought that "frayed" would be the better word. The high, gay spirits had fled with youth and beauty. Her temper was quick, her husband's was violent. Their quarrels were the talk of the neighborhood, and a rumor was gaining ground that the wife was partially insane.
Grown-up Flea had never breathed to a living soul one word of what had happened in the summer-house six years ago. She was as loyal to those she loved as when the child had refused to tell how she got the scratch on her cheek. When flushed by heat or exercise a thin white sear, hardly wider than a hair, still showed the line the shot had taken. It was distinct now, and Mrs. Tayloe stroked it with a finger which was no longer plump and soft.
"I declare you'll carry that scar to your grave! What a game little thing you were! And how shamefully I treated you the last time I saw you! I was just crazy over that man—the biggest fool that ever lived. I've paid for it since! Oh, I've paid for it!"
A scarlet spot flashed out upon each cheek; her voice arose until it cracked.
"If I had only listened to you that day, I would have been a happier and a better woman. Poor, dear papa said I was bewitched, and I really think I was. Mr. Tayloe has quarrelled with my brothers, and not one of them ever comes near me. Robert told me once to provoke the man to strike me, and then my brothers would make the law step in. But there are the children, you see. I can't disgrace them."
"Dear Miss Emily," pleaded Flea, her eyes full of tears, "don't talk of these things. You are not well, and thinking of old times excites you. Where are the children? I want to see them. They must be a great comfort to you."