“I don't believe it,” she cried, facing him again. “The woman warned me against lies that were being told about her—lies to screen Unity.”
“It 's true,” he repeated. “If you want proofs, I could get you the newspaper reports of the trial. She was put into prison for three years. Then John swore that Unity should never suffer again, and, by way of reparation, adopted her as his own daughter. He came like a god and lifted her from misery to happiness. That 's why she loves him, as you say, body and soul.”
“And he loves her.”
Her tone staggered him. “He loves her as a father loves a daughter.”
“And she as a woman loves a lover. I'm no longer a child. I know what I 'm talking about.”
Then he saw how deep the poison had gone. It was a ghastly travesty of Stellamaris that spoke.
“You are talking wickedness, Stellamaris,” he said sternly. “Go on your knees and pray to God for forgiveness.”
She threw back her head. “There is n't a God, or He would not allow such foulness and horror to be on His earth. I believe in nothing. I believe nobody. I would just as soon believe that woman as you. At least she did n't pretend to be good. She rejoiced in her vileness. She hid nothing, as every one else hides things. And now—” her voice dropped to a tone of great weariness—“don't you think you've tortured me enough?”
The word was a sword through his heart. He stretched out reproachful hands.
“Stella, dearest, dearest—”