"What did he tell you?" she asked, as they moved away. "How could he say
anything worse than what he said before me?"
"He told me something that was worse--much worse."
She looked troubled and as if she did not understand.
"But he said that I was a flirt, and that I couldn't speak the truth, and
that I drove people--"
"Yes, I remember all that; but this was infinitely worse."
"Infinitely worse!"
"Yes."
She stopped in an angle where the big room dwindled into a narrow gallery,
and stared astonished.
"I can't at all understand," she said.
"No, you can't," he said, "and I can't tell you--I mustn't tell you--how
terrible it is to me to look at you and think of what he told me."
After a second she went on again and presently they entered the
dining-room. The confusion of rustling skirts and sliding chairs quite
covered their speech for a moment and made them seem almost alone. Her
hand had been resting on his arm and now she drew it out, looking up at
him again as she did so. Her eyes had a premonitory mist over them.
"For Heaven's sake," she said very earnestly, "tell me what he said?"
He was silent.
"Tell me," she pleaded.
He was still silent.
"Tell me," she said imperiously.
He continued silent. They sat down.
"Mr. Denham," she said, as she took up her napkin, and her voice grew very
low, and yet he heard, "I don't think that we can pretend to be joking any
longer. You are my brother's friend, and I am a married woman.
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