Sheila gasped at this astounding revelation. “The husband of the popular Lady Wrenwyck, who in her youth was a celebrated beauty?”
Then she turned to her father, whose pale, worn face cut her to the heart. “But, dearest, what was his motive for such a dastardly deed?”
Monkton spoke in a low voice, but he did not meet his daughter’s eyes. “A fancied wrong, my child. We crossed each other many years ago, and he has brooded over it till he grew half insane, and thought of this scheme of vengeance.”
“But you will have him punished,” cried his daughter loudly. “You must! You cannot mete out to him what he has done to you, but you will deal with him as the law allows you.”
Monkton turned uneasily in his chair. “It is the dearest wish of my heart to bring him low, but, in my position, one cannot afford scandal. In a few weeks I shall be restored to my old place, to my old strength. That there has been a mystery is only known to a few. To the public, Reginald Monkton has recovered from a brief illness induced by overstrain and over-work. It is better so.”
Sheila gazed at him almost wildly. “That is your resolve. But it seems to me folly; forgive me if I question your decision, if I criticise you.”
For a moment the glances of Wingate and Mrs Saxton met, and they read each other’s thoughts. Monkton must let Lord Wrenwyck go unpunished; it would be political death to him to have that old folly brought into public gaze.
He interposed hastily. “Dearest Sheila, your father is right. I understand his reasons perfectly. He is not an ordinary man. If he is to keep his position, he must forgo the revenge to which he is so justly entitled.”
Sheila looked at him with puzzled eyes. Austin was wise beyond his years, but surely he was wrong in this. She pressed her hand to her head, and murmured faintly, “I do not understand. But I suppose it must be as you say.”
Mrs Saxton went on swiftly with her story.