“What do they say?” she asked.
It was difficult, I found, to speak.
“They say she's my mistress.”
“Oh! How abominable!”
She spoke with the most natural indignation. Our eyes met.
“We've been great friends,” I said.
“Yes. And to make THAT of it. My poor dear! But how can they?” She
paused and looked at me. “It's so incredible. How can any one believe
it? I couldn't.”
She stopped, with her distressed eyes regarding me. Her expression
changed to dread. There was a tense stillness for a second, perhaps.
I turned my face towards the desk, and took up and dropped a handful of
paper fasteners.
“Margaret,” I said, “I'm afraid you'll have to believe it.”
5
Margaret sat very still. When I looked at her again, her face was very
white, and her distressed eyes scrutinised me. Her lips quivered as she
spoke. “You really mean--THAT?” she said.