She sent for Leonard and he came at her bidding.
"I have visited my husband's grave," she said.
"My dear brother Gerald's grave," he said in correction. "I said my husband's grave," she repeated.
"And I replied, my dear brother Gerald's grave."
There was a dark, stern look in his eyes, and she did not have the courage to come straight to the point.
"I believe you to be my friend," she said.
"I did not wish to distress my poor brother," he rejoined.
"Then you deceived me by professing what you did not feel?"
"Yet you have remained here with me during my long illness."
"Was it not out of love that you have stayed with me?"
She strove to look at him steadily, but her eyes wavered; his were unflinching.
"On the last day I saw my dear husband--What is the meaning of that gesture?" For Leonard had put up his hand with scornful motion.
"Your assumption of innocence and indignation does not deceive me; it will deceive no one who knows you. Go on. On the last day you saw my dear brother----"
"I had reason to believe," she continued, "that I had won the respect, if not the affection, of those around me, strangers though they were. I passed through a dangerous illness, and have been mercifully spared. I thank God humbly for it. Recovering, I am met with coldness whichever way I turn. People avoid me. Why?"
"I have questioned my heart, and find none. I have done no wrong."
"You have singular ideas of morality. Is living with a man as his mistress a virtuous act?"
"Great God! How dare you speak those words to me?"
"Because they are true. People avoid you because the truth is known. Spare hysterics; they will not help you. You are not fit to associate with virtuous women."
"How dare you, how dare you? Gerald and I were man and wife."
"You never were. You and my dear, fond brother--dear to me, weak though he was--were never married. With his death ended your life of deceit. You were Gerald's mistress, not his wife."
"ONLY YOU AND I, DARLING, ONLY YOU AND I."
The horror of this infamous statement so completely overwhelmed her that she lost the power of speech. The room swam before her; in her excitement she had risen to her feet, and her slight form swayed like a reed in the throes of a pitiless storm. Presently Leonard spoke again, and his voice brought some clearness to her distracted mind; but every word he uttered cut into her heart like a sharp knife.