Hugh set his teeth and strode up to Gerard, and looked him close in the eyes.
“Damn you!” he said, “couldn’t you have spared us this!”
“Then it is true?” cried Irene, aghast. “That that girl is your wife—and I am not?”
Hugh turned quickly from Gerard, and moved a pace nearer to her, and said, with a certain sad stateliness:
“Yes, dear, it is quite true.”
She stood for a moment or two white and trembling, as if stricken by a mortal malady. There was a dead silence. She looked at Hugh fixedly. Then she turned slowly and walked towards the door.
Gerard was frightened. The flabby conscience was wrung. This was the second time he had stabbed her to the heart. For the moment he forgot everything save her innocence and her anguish. He overtook her in two or three sudden strides.
“For God’s sake, Irene—I’m an infernal blackguard—forgive me.”
But, her back towards him, she waved him away, with outstretched hand, and in a few seconds had left the room.
“Now, we two,” said Hugh, drawing himself up. “What are your intentions?”