There was no need of explanation. “She” was the incarnation in woman of all evil. He rose from the chair, putting his hand to his forehead. He had not thought of her in connection with John's disappearance; judged in the light of the morning's revelation, the connection was more than possible. Of no ingenuity of fiendishness was the woman incapable.
“What made you think of her?”
“How can I help thinking of her?” said Unity.
“It is the she-devil,” he cried excitedly. “She has been at work already. My God! I have it!” He smote his palm with the fist of the other hand. “She has told him.”
“What?”
“She went down to Southcliff and saw Stellamaris. She poisoned her ears with hideous things. She was going to throw her over the cliff.”
Unity, a queer light behind her patient eyes, crept up close to him, and an ugly look accentuated the coarseness of her features.
“She dared? She dared to speak to my precious one? What did she say? Tell me.”
“She told her she was John's deserted wife, and that you—” he hesitated for a moment, and saw that he was not dealing with a young girl, but with a tragic woman—“and that you were his mistress.”
Unity closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed the horror. Then she looked at him again.