She drew a quick breath of alarm, pressing her cheek against the
window-pane and looking out with unseeing eyes. Before her was the
wide terrace, the level stretch of lawn with here and there a mound of
unmelted snow, and beyond the bare, brown trees and the winter sky.
Astry spoke again with a certain moderation, a mental detachment that
made her feel how wide was the chasm between them.
"I can see you're unhappy and I'm sorry. I don't know that there's much
to do about it. Divorce is common but a little vulgar. I'm not sure
that you care to have me offer you such an avenue of escape."
"I must have been very unpleasant," she said slowly. "I didn't intend
to make people think things like that."
"Like what?" he asked gently.
"What you said--just now--that I might want a divorce."
"Do you?"
She did not reply; her face was turned now directly to the window and
he only saw the hand that rested on the pane tremble slightly. He moved
uneasily in his chair.
"I didn't know it was as bad as that, Eva!"
"As bad as that?" her voice trembled. "I don't understand."
"I didn't know that you wanted a divorce."
"It isn't that!"
He leaned forward, watching her, his expression singularly grave.
"Would you mind telling me just what you do mean?"
Eva turned from the window and came toward him, and as the light fell
on her face Astry was startled. He rose involuntarily from his seat and
Eva stood still, her slender hands clutching at the back of a chair.
She tried to speak twice before the words came.
"I can't bear it any longer, Johnstone; I'm going to tell the
truth--the whole truth."
He did not speak; he was watching her strangely.
She shivered and then went on, not looking at him, her voice at first a
mere whisper, growing a little firmer.
"Rachel married Belhaven--to save my good name."
He was still silent for a moment, regarding her.
"You mean that you--told me a falsehood that night?"
"About Rachel? Yes."
"Good God!"
She hid her face in her hands, but her voice, small and thin and
quivering, struggled on. She had to confess, she had to tell him, she
could endure it no longer.
"I lied about Rachel."
"And you--" he dragged out the words--"you were guilty?"
"Indeed--no! In thought, in the intention, yes." She broke off and then
after a moment of agony went on, her face still hidden in her hands. "I
was going to run away with him that day."
Astry did not speak, he did not even move, and Eva sank down into a
chair.
"I was going and you caught me; you accused me and--" she stopped again
and then went on, "and I was frightened. I'm a coward; I told you a
falsehood about Rachel, then I went to her--"
"And Rachel?" his voice was hoarse.
"She forgave me, she sacrificed herself for me; she's an angel."
"And you let her marry that--that scoundrel to save you?"
"I was afraid you'd kill him."
"He ought to have been killed."
Her head sank lower.
"It's incredible! To let your sister marry that scoundrel to save his
life, to shield you!"
"She's forgiven me," Eva's voice broke pitifully. "I told her--she--"
He had risen in his agitation and he swung around now, facing her. "Did
she know?"
"That I was guilty?" Eva turned darkly crimson. "No, not until the
other day--I told her--and she forgave me."
"It's past belief."
"That she should forgive me? Rachel? She's so good to me."
"I know Rachel, but it's past belief that you could let her do it,
sacrifice her to save that hound."
"Wait!" Eva rose; she tried to face him steadily. "Listen, you told me
that if she didn't marry him you'd kill him."
"Well?"
"That you'd kill him because of me. I told her that and she married him
to save my good name."
"It was my business to take care of your good name."
"No, it was mine," she was gaining strength now. "It was mine and I'd
failed. I was weak, wicked, foolish; I thought I loved him."
"You thought you loved him? Do you mean you didn't?"
"Not--not afterwards."
"Not after you saw the coward shield himself behind a woman?"