She had declared that Feversham still drew an allowance from
his father. "I heard it only to-day," she had said.
"Yes, Ethne heard news of Feversham to-day," he said slowly. "Did she
make a mistake five years ago? There was some wrong thing Harry
Feversham was supposed to have done. But was there really more
misunderstanding than wrong? Did she misjudge him? Has she to-day
learnt that she misjudged him?"
"I will tell you what I know. It is not very much. But I think it is
fair that you should know it."
"Wait a moment, please, Mrs. Adair," said Durrance, sharply. He had put
his questions rather to himself than to his companion, and he was not
sure that he wished her to answer them. He walked abruptly away from her
and leaned upon the balustrade with his face towards the garden.
It seemed to him rather treacherous to allow Mrs. Adair to disclose what
Ethne herself evidently intended to conceal. But he knew why Ethne
wished to conceal it. She wished him never to suspect that she retained
any love for Harry Feversham. On the other hand, however, he did not
falter from his own belief. Marriage between a man crippled like himself
and a woman active and vigorous like Ethne could never be right unless
both brought more than friendship.
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