THE CONFIDANTE
"Picture it, Penelope, the disappointment and the blankness for him. I could never have loved him, but I would have been a good wife to him." (Her voice rose in a crescendo of surprise. She thought "How genuine I am!") "We—we had made so many plans," she faltered; fumbled, found no handkerchief, and spread her hands before her face.
Penelope gave a little gasp, half sympathetic. She was praying hard for tact.
"Veronica," she said, "I don't think you should let that stand between you and Maurice. You mustn't be too soft-hearted, dear. I don't think Victor's altogether unhappy. He's relieved, I know. You see, the last few weeks have been an awful strain for him, as well as—other people."
"How do you know?"
"He told me."
"You've been discussing me. Oh, Penelope, this is intolerable!"
"He had been talking to me; he had no one else. For a long time, I suppose, he put me in the position of a sister-in-law."
"That was going too far!" cried Maurice.
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