“I would not be too sure,” said Irene, who had tasted the bitter fruit of knowledge. “A woman can have strange jealousies.”
“You need not fear,” he said.
But her words gave poignancy to gnawing misgivings. He had counted so absolutely on Minna’s silence. Now, who could tell of what vindictive folly she was capable?
“My mind is easy, Hugh,” she replied. “I have faith in my destiny.”
He looked enquiringly. “As the boy’s mother,” she explained.
So things went on until one evening, when, in consequence of a long-standing invitation, the Harroways dined with them. Harroway took Hugh into a corner before dinner. His face was beaming.
“I have seen Merriam. He has told me. I want to fling myself on my knees before your wife. Believe me, I have all along had terrible doubts—ask Selina. It makes me feel young again.”
“What did he tell you?” asked Hugh, anxiously.
“Simply that he had discovered his error. He thought I ought to know. I’m glad I’m not in his shoes. I’d shoot myself—by George, I would, sir!”
“He told you nothing about the source of his information?”