“I tell you he is not my lover!” she cried fiercely. Then hoarsely she added: “I—I fear him, it’s true. I am fettered to him because—well, truth to tell, I am powerless to rid myself of his attentions because he has possessed himself of a great and terrible secret that is mine alone, one that if betrayed would crush me.”
I regarded her steadily. Her face was a trifle paler, and in her eyes I thought I detected signs of tears.
“Is this really the truth, Mabel?” I asked with earnestness. She had deceived me before, and I was determined not to accept any of her statements without verification.
“It is the absolute truth,” she declared huskily. “I swear I am unable to treat the man as I should wish because I fear he may make known the truth.”
“Is it so serious, then? Is yours a secret of so terrible a nature that you dare not face exposure? It is not like you, Mabel, to flinch,” I said.
“But I cannot let this man speak—I dare not.”
“You do not love him?”
“I hate him, but must treat him with tact and discretion. Did I not tell you when we met him unexpectedly at Thackwell’s to beware of him? Already I knew how he and certain accursed parasites who surround him had misled you, and had entrapped you into an impossible marriage. I—”
“Impossible?” I echoed. “Why do you use that word? Do you insinuate that Sybil was an impossible person?”
“Yes; when you know the truth about her it will amaze you. Indeed, were it not for the fact that I have witnessed certain things with my own eyes I myself would never believe the story if related to me.”