“And how did you get on then?”
“Oh, the Duke of Wallingcourt—one of my greatest admirers—paid off the mortgage and set me on my feet again. Then there was the property in Surrey, which Percival had settled on me at the time of our marriage; that fetched nearly fifteen hundred pounds. Afterwards I became engaged to the duke, who, as you know, died a fortnight before the wedding was to have taken place. That was hard luck, for as Duchess of Wallingcourt I should have society at my feet.”
“Did it never occur to you to re-marry me after the death of either of your husbands?” asked Karne, still inclined to be satirical; “or was I altogether out of the running, as you would say?”
“I did think of it,” she answered equably. “But you lived in the country, which was a disadvantage, for I could not possibly exist for any length of time out of London or Paris. I heard also that you were very friendly with Percival’s people, the Milnes; and I feared that if you were as straitlaced as themselves, you would be too prim for me.”
Herbert could not resist a smile, but his countenance quickly resumed its gravity. He rose from his seat and glanced out of the window. The fog had almost melted away.
“So that is your story!” he said meditatively. “How am I to know that it is true?”
“Do you doubt my word?” she asked with pique.
“Well, not exactly,” he replied hesitatingly. “But you must admit that when I knew you, you did occasionally deviate from the truth.”
“Which means, in vulgar parlance, that I told lies,” she rejoined evenly. “Thank you for the compliment. As it happens, however, I have told you the exact truth. My reason for telling you was that I wish to settle up all my affairs. I am shortly going away—a little further than my beloved Paris. In plain words, Herbert, I am dying.”
The last statement was made so calmly that Karne thought he could not have heard aright. He glanced at her in astonishment, almost dumbfounded by the news.