“No,” he answered in a hard voice, his dark brow clouded, “no other woman has attracted me.”
“Then—well, to put it plainly—you believe all these scandalous tales that have been circulated about me of late? Because of these you’ve turned from me, and now abandon me like this!”
“It is not that,” he protested.
“Then why do you refuse to repeat your promise, when you know, Dudley, that I love you?”
“For a reason which I cannot tell you.”
She looked at him puzzled by his reticence. He was certainly not himself. His face was bloodless, and for the first time she noticed round his eyes the dark rings caused by the insomnia of the past two nights.
“Tell me, Dudley,” she implored, clinging to him in dismay. “Can’t you see this coldness of yours is driving me to despair—killing me? Tell me the truth. What is it that troubles you?”
“I regret, Claudia, that I cannot tell you.”
“But you always used to trust me. You have never had secrets from me.”
“No, only this one,” he answered in a dull, monotonous manner.