Mrs. Vansuythen had shifted her defence to avoid the man's pleading, and was desperately trying to keep him to a side-issue.
"There must be some mistake," she insisted, "and it can be all put right again."
Boulte laughed grimly.
"It can't be Captain Kurrell! He told me that he had never taken the least—the least interest in your wife, Mr. Boulte. Oh do listen! He said he had not. He swore he had not," said Mrs. Vansuythen.
The curtain rustled, and the speech was cut short by the entry of a little, thin woman, with big rings round her eyes. Mrs. Vansuythen stood up with a gasp.
"What was that you said?" asked Mrs. Boulte. "Never mind that man. What did Ted say to you? What did he say to you? What did he say to you?"
Mrs. Vansuythen sat down helplessly on the sofa, overborne by the trouble of her questioner.
"He said—I can't remember exactly what he said—but I understood him to say—that is But, really, Mrs. Boulte, isn't it rather a strange question."
"Will you tell me what he said?" repeated Mrs. Boulte.
Even a tiger will fly before a bear robbed of her whelps, and Mrs. Vansuythen was only an ordinarily good woman.
She began in a sort of desperation: "Well, he said that he never cared for you at all, and, of course, there was not the least reason why he should have, and—and—that was all."
"You said he swore he had not cared for me. Was that true?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Vansuythen very softly. Mrs. Boulte wavered for an instant where she stood, and then fell forward fainting.
"What did I tell you?" said Boulte, as though the conversation had been unbroken. "You can see for yourself. She cares for him." The light began to break into his dull mind, and he went on—"And he—what was he saying to you?"
