She could not help pitying him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but it can’t be helped. It was a stupid mistake our marrying—but I didn’t know myself then. You don’t know me now. It would be a worse mistake, though, for me to come back.”
“God help me. I’ve thought of nothing but you since you went away. Is there nothing I can do?—nothing I can say?”
“Nothing. Nothing,” she broke in vehemently. “Nothing, I tell you. Why can’t you believe me? It’s no use talking about it. You’d better go.”
He stood looking at her, but could read in her eyes only stubborn defiance. For the first time he noticed the new brightness in her beauty and the richness of her dress.
“Where are you?” he asked; “what are you doing?”
“I’m quite happy, or rather should be if only you’d leave me alone,” was the answer.
But he persisted, there coming suddenly into his mind a suspicion of the truth.
“Why are you here? The servant must have told you Maddison was out, and—you came in as if you were at home.”
“I won’t answer any more questions. I told you you’d better go.”