Part 67 (1/2)

”No.” She smiled a little, as if to give herself time. ”But I mean that you shall. If I were a man I suppose I couldn't, because a man's code of honour is such a clumsy cast-iron thing. But a woman's, luckily, can be cut over--if she's clever--to fit any new occasion; and in this case I should be willing to reduce mine to tatters if necessary.”

Amherst's look of bewilderment deepened. ”What is it that I don't understand?” he asked at length, in a low voice.

”Well--first of all, why Mr. Langhope had the right to ask you to send for your wife.”

”The right?”

”You don't recognize such a right on his part?”

”No--why should I?”

”Supposing she had left you by his wish?”

”His wish? _His----?_”

He was on his feet now, gazing at her blindly, while the solid world seemed to grow thin about him. Her next words reduced it to a mist.

”My poor Amherst--why else, on earth, should she have left you?”

She brought it out clearly, in her small chiming tones; and as the sound travelled toward him it seemed to gather momentum, till her words rang through his brain as if every incomprehensible incident in the past had suddenly boomed forth the question. Why else, indeed, should she have left him? He stood motionless for a while; then he approached Mrs.

Ansell and said: ”Tell me.”

She drew farther back into her corner of the sofa, waving him to a seat beside her, as though to bring his inquisitory eyes on a level where her own could command them; but he stood where he was, unconscious of her gesture, and merely repeating: ”Tell me.”

She may have said to herself that a woman would have needed no farther telling; but to him she only replied, slanting her head up to his: ”To spare you and himself pain--to keep everything, between himself and you, as it had been before you married her.”

He dropped down beside her at that, grasping the back of the sofa as if he wanted something to clutch and throttle. The veins swelled in his temples, and as he pushed back his tossed hair Mrs. Ansell noticed for the first time how gray it had grown on the under side.

”And he asked this of my wife--he accepted it?'”

”Haven't _you_ accepted it?”

”I? How could I guess her reasons--how could I imagine----?”

Mrs. Ansell raised her brows a hair's breadth at that. ”I don't know.

But as a fact, he didn't ask--it was she who offered, who forced it on him, even!”

”Forced her going on him?”

”In a sense, yes; by making it appear that _you_ felt as he did about--about poor Bessy's death: that the thought of what had happened at that time was as abhorrent to you as to him--that _she_ was as abhorrent to you. No doubt she foresaw that, had she permitted the least doubt on that point, there would have been no need of her leaving you, since the relation between yourself and Mr. Langhope would have been altered--destroyed....”

”Yes. I expected that--I warned her of it. But how did she make him think----?”

”How can I tell? To begin with, I don't know your real feeling. For all I know she was telling the truth--and Mr. Langhope of course thought she was.”

”That I abhorred her? Oh----” he broke out, on his feet in an instant.

”Then why----?”