She turned slightly toward him. That was all.
Dixon threw himself upon a chair near her, with a groan.
“Barbara!” he cried, in a voice of anguish, “Barbara! Is this all you have to give me?”
She turned toward him a wan, drawn face with dazed, tearless eyes that seemed to look at him as from afar off.
“I trusted you so completely,” she said, her words falling as slowly and coldly as the snowflakes outside, “so completely! I never knew that such things could be! I shall never forgive myself that I believed him guilty, never! I shall never forgive myself that I helped to drive him to despair. I shall never forgive——”
“Don’t say it, Barbara! For God’s sake, don’t say it!” her husband cried, throwing himself at her feet, and burying his face upon her lap. He felt her whole body recoil from his touch, and shrank back, hiding his face upon his arms.
“I was such a child,” she went on, “such a foolish, weak child—but I might have known better. I shall never forgive myself!”
Dixon groaned aloud. “But I am ready, quite ready,” she continued in the same voice.
“Ready?”
He started up, and stared at her wildly. He feared for her reason.