“Does the mystery surrounding that woman still puzzle you?” she inquired, with a calmness which I knew was feigned. Her fond eyes, which once had shone upon me with their love-light, were cold and contemptuous.
“Puzzle me?” I repeated. “It has almost driven me to distraction. I verily believe she possesses the power of Satan himself.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “If the truth is ever known regarding her I anticipate a strange and startling revelation.”
“Ah!” I exclaimed instantly. “You know more than you will tell. Why do you seek always to conceal the truth?”
“I know nothing,” she protested. “Aline is your friend. Surely you may ascertain the truth from her?”
“But this lover of yours—this man who now occupies the place in your heart which I once hoped to occupy—who is he?”
She hesitated, and I saw that she intended still to fence with me. Of late all her woman’s wit seemed to concentrate in the ingenious evasions of my questions in order to render my cross-examination fruitless.
“He is my lover, that is all.”
“But what is he?” I asked.
“I have never inquired,” she responded with affected carelessness.