Ere long she would not be able to look Frank in the face, for Jim Jannaway would lie so circumstantially that both her father and he would believe it to be the shameful truth. Mullet would not admit the past. “Say nothing regarding the past,” he had urged! He had some strong motive in this—a motive that must, of itself, prevent him revealing the truth, and clearing her of the blemish placed upon her good name.
Besides, would Frank ever accept the excuses made for her by a man of “Red Mullet’s” stamp? The actual truth was an ugly one. She had been absent from home, and on returning, had refused to give an account of where she had been. And now it was to be revealed that she had lived in “Red Mullet’s” chambers!
She burst into a flood of tears on recognising her own utter helplessness.
Circumstances were entirely against her. She could never hope to defend her own honour in the face of such dark facts.
Suddenly she dried her eyes with a great effort, and looked at herself in the big mirror at the back of the high, old-fashioned carved sideboard. She started to notice how pale she was, and how dark beneath the eyes.
Then slowly she went out of the room, and up the stairs, in obedience to her protector, “Red Mullet.”
Hardly knowing what she did, or what words escaped her, she re-entered the study where her father, her lover and the Doctor were in consultation, and standing before them, described the scene that had occurred in that room during the night-hours.
The three men, when they heard the astounding truth, started to their feet with one accord.
“You!—Gwen—my daughter!” gasped the old Professor in a voice of bitter reproach. “And you have allowed this—you allowed that man to gain our secret without alarming me! I am ashamed of your conduct—heartily ashamed!”
“I could not, father,” answered the girl, panting and pale-faced, “I—I was afraid—I feared him!”