“Yes,” she answered desperately; “I’m not going to struggle any more. Let come what may. It’s not I that is concerned now, but fate. I won’t leave him till he throws me aside like a toy he’s tired of.”
“And what about your husband?”
“Paul? Paul’s worth ten of the other. I didn’t know his value till I was so unhappy.”
“Aren’t you a little ashamed to treat him so badly?”
“I can’t sleep at night for thinking of it. Every present he gives me is like a stab in my heart; every kindness is the bitterest anguish. But I can’t help it.”
Miss Ley meditated for a moment.
“I’ve just been talking to Lady Vizard,” she said then. “I suppose there’s no one in London whom a pious person would more readily consign to eternal flames, and yet she looks upon herself as a very good woman indeed. Also I feel sure that our mutual friend, Reggie, has no qualms about any of his proceedings. It suggests to me that the only wicked people in the world are those who have consciences.”
“And d’you think I have a conscience?” asked Mrs. Castillyon bitterly.
“Apparently. I never saw any trace of it till I met you at Rochester. But I suppose it was there in a rudimentary condition, and events have brought it to the front. Take care it doesn’t get the better of you. I see a great danger staring you in the face.”
“What do you mean?”