she hated was gone, too, she only now began to see what an immense part of her life he had taken with him. She was now no more than she had been in those dreadful incredible days at Brixham, except only that she carried now a load of infamy and disgrace.
Yet that could not be. There was Charlie; why did he not come to her?
Dusk had fallen before anyone came; soon after Lucia sprang up to greet Madge.
"Oh, Madge, I am glad to see you," she said. "I have been all alone—all, all alone. I want to tell you about it. What are they saying? Tell me what people are saying. Does anybody know yet what has happened?"
Lady Heron looked and was genuinely distressed.
"My dear Lucia," she said, "how could you? Well, well, it is no use asking that. The thing is done. Yes, everybody knows. They are talking of nothing else. You know the world well enough to know that."
"But my friends," cried Lucia, "are they joining in it, do you mean? Are there not any who refuse to listen to such dreadful lies about me? I will tell you the whole story"
But Madge stopped her.
"Believe me, that is a mere waste of time," she said quietly. "We have to consider the situation as it is."
"But nobody knows except Charlie and me, and he knows as well as I do"
And then Lucia stopped. She saw the futility of it all. She knew the uselessness of her little child-tale.
"Who has told them?" she asked.
"Edgar, I should think; he probably told somebody, and after that—on the whole it was best that he should. It is more dreadful if the first thing that the world knows is that the proceedings have begun. Now what are you thinking of doing? Have you seen Charlie yet? Does he know where you are?"
"Yes, he knows where I am," said Lucia. "I wrote at least to his house and his club telling him."
"And he has not been?"
"No."
The unthinkable thought showed itself again. Lucia sprang up.
"Your silence frightens me, Madge," she said. "What are you thinking of? Do you mean he is going to desert me after leading me into this? It was he all along"
