“It's—some one else?” he asked.
“I was—going to be married to—to Mr. Ditmar,” she said slowly, despairingly.
“But even then—” Insall began.
“You don't understand!” she cried. “What will you think of me?—Mrs. Maturin was to have told you, after I'd gone. It's—it's the same as if I were married to him—only worse.”
“Worse!” Insall repeated uncomprehendingly.... And then she was aware that he had left her side. He was standing by the window.
A thrush began to sing in the maple. She stole silently toward the door, and paused to look back at him, once to meet his glance. He had turned.
“I can't—I can't let you go like this!” she heard him say, but she fled from him, out of the gate and toward the Common....
When Janet appeared, Augusta Maturin was in her garden. With an instant perception that something was wrong, she went to the girl and led her to the sofa in the library. There the confession was made.
“I never guessed it,” Janet sobbed. “Oh, Mrs. Maturin, you'll believe me—won't you?”
“Of course I believe you, Janet,” Augusta Maturity replied, trying to hide her pity, her own profound concern and perplexity. “I didn't suspect it either. If I had—”