Norma, as she listened to the little lady's tale, felt her heart grow cold and heavy. Doubt was no longer possible. The man himself had spoken. He had not even pleaded extenuating circumstances; had merely admitted the plain, brutal facts. He had gone under a feigned name, seduced an honest girl, abandoned her, driven her to tragedy. It was all too simple to need explanation.
“But what are we to do, dear?” cried Connie, as Norma made no remark, but stood motionless and silent.
“I think we had better drop his acquaintance,” she replied with bitter irony.
Connie flinched at the tone, being a tender-natured woman. She retorted with some spirit:
“I don't believe you have any heart at all, Norma. And I thought you cared for him.”
“You thought I cared for him?” Norma repeated slowly and cuttingly while her eyes hardened. “What right had you to form such an opinion?”
“People can form any opinions they like, my dear,” said Connie. “That was mine. And on the terrace this afternoon you know you cared. If ever a woman gave herself away over a man, it was Norma Hardacre.”
“It was n't Norma Hardacre, I assure you. It was a despicable fool whom I will ask you to forget. My mother was for putting it into a madhouse. She was quite right. Anyhow it has ceased to exist and I am the real Norma Hardacre again. Humanity is afflicted, it seems, periodically with a peculiar disease. It turns men into beasts and women into idiots. I have quite recovered, my dear Connie, and if you'll kindly go down and ask them to keep dinner back for five minutes, I'll dress and come down.”
She rang the bell for her maid. Connie rose from the bed. She longed to make some appeal to the other's softer nature for her own sake, as she had held Jimmie very dear and felt the need of sympathy in her trouble and disillusion.
But knowing that from the rock of that cynical mood no water would gush forth for any one's magic, she recognised the inefficacy of her own guileless arts, and forbore to exercise them. She sighed for answer. By chance her glance fell upon Norma's skirt. Human instinct, not altogether feminine, seized upon the trivial.
“Why, whatever have you been doing to your dress?”
Norma looked down, and for the first time noticed the disfiguring smears of blood.