“What fact?” she asked with some anxiety.
“I made a discovery,” I said ambiguously.
“Regarding me?”
“Yes, regarding yourself,” I replied, with my eyes fixed full upon hers. I saw that she started at my words, her countenance fell, and she caught her breath quickly.
“Well, tell me what it is,” she asked in a hard tone, a tone which showed me that she had steeled herself for the worst.
“Forgive me if I speak the truth,” I exclaimed. “You have asked me, and I will be perfectly frank with you. Well, I discovered amongst old Mr. Courtenay’s papers a letter written by you several years ago which revealed the truth.”
“The truth!” she gasped, her face blanched in an instant. “The truth of what?”
“That you were once engaged to become his wife.”
Her breast heaved quickly, and I saw that my words had relieved her of some grave apprehension. When I declared that I knew “the truth” she believed that I spoke of the secret of Courtenay’s masquerading. The fact of her previous engagement was, to her, of only secondary importance, for she replied:
“Well, and is that the sole cause of your displeasure?”