Reviewing the circumstances
coldly, he could hardly blame her.
It was on Sunday, a week after his arrest, that she came to him.
He was surprised to see the ravages that this short time had made
in her, for she was pale and drawn and weary-looking, as if from
sleeplessness. Strange to say, these marks of suffering did not
detract from her appearance, but rather enhanced her poise and
distinction. She was not even veiled. On the contrary, she had
driven openly to the police barracks, and ordered her coachman to
wait in the street outside, then demanded to be shown to Anthony's
cell.
"I'm awfully glad to see you, Mrs. Cortlandt," he said, as she
extended her hand. "But do you think it was wise for you to come?"
She shrugged. "People can say no more than they have already said.
My name is on every tongue, and a little more gossip can make
matters no worse. I had to come. I just couldn't stay away. I
wonder if you can realize what I have been through."
"It must have been terrible," he said, gently.
"Yes, I have paid. It seems to me that I have paid for everything
I ever did. Those newspaper stories nearly killed me, but it
wasn't that so much as the thought that you were suffering for my
acts."
"I'm very sorry.
Pages:
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501