THE CONFIDANTE
She heard her own voice, self-conscious and defiant.
"To you! Why you?"
"But we know each other—rather well. Since much longer than he's known Veronica. And, well, you see I'm her cousin. He thought I'd make things easier for her. Do the explaining as far as possible. Probably he thought I'd speak to you."
She stealthily touched her pocket and smiled to feel the crisp thick letter-paper crackle beneath her hand. Then she wondered if the sound were audible to the others, and glanced guiltily from one to the other of them. But they sat there silent, embarrassed, heavily preoccupied, one on either side of her.
"So now———," she said with bright aggressiveness. She could have shaken them.
"I do not think," said Veronica, in a small determined voice, "that I am justified in accepting Victor's sacrifice."
"He is extraordinarily generous," said Maurice, without enthusiasm.
"The loneliness," went on Veronica, gazing wide-eyed down some terrible vista.
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