by you. I have suspected nothing, and you know it. But, thank Heaven, my blindness has been cured. I can see it all now."
"You have been gossiping," he exclaimed, glaring at me.
"I have done nothing of the kind. I have been neglected and humiliated. I knew no reason why this state of things should exist, so—I asked my mother's advice."
The shot struck home. Arthur Ravener gasped for breath. He seemed absolutely unable to speak.
"You—asked—your—mother's—advice," he managed to articulate, presently. "And—what—did—she—tell—you?"
"She told me this, and I confront you with it: that there was undeniable proof in your neglect that you cared nothing for me, except as a sort of respectable cloak, but that there must be another woman whom you loved, and whom you visited when you were not at Tavistock Villa."
"Ah!"
If I had not known that such a thing must be impossible I should have imagined that
