“Did he tell you that?” the regal little
lady asked composedly, but with an underglow of anger
in her eyes.
“He told the court that at the Logan Trial,”
was the reply.
“At the murder trial—he told that?”
Mrs. Crozier asked almost mechanically, her face gone
pale and a little haggard.
“He was obliged to answer when that wolf, Gus
Burlingame, was after him,” interposed Kitty
with kindness in her tone, for, suddenly, she saw
through the outer walls of the little wife’s
being into the inner courts. She saw that Mrs.
Crozier loved her husband now, whatever she had done
in the past. The sight of love does not beget
compassion in a loveless heart, but there was love
in Kitty’s heart; and it was even greater than
she would have wished any human being to see; and by
it she saw with radium clearness through the veil
of the other woman’s being.
“Surely he could have avoided answering that,”
urged Mona Crozier bitterly.
“Only by telling a lie,” Kitty quickly
answered, “and I don’t believe he ever
told a lie in his life. Come,” she added,
“I will show you his room. My mother needn’t
do it, and so she won’t be responsible.
You have your rights as a wife until they’re
denied you. You mustn’t come, mother,”
she said to Mrs. Tynan, and she put a tender hand
on her arm.
“This way,” she added to the little person
in the pale blue, which suited well her very dark
hair, blue eyes, and rose-touched cheeks.
KITTY SPEAKS HER MIND AGAIN
A moment later they stood inside Shiel Crozier’s
room. The first glance his wife gave took in
the walls, the table, the bureau, and the desk which
contained her own unopened letter. She was looking
for a photograph of herself.
There was none in the room, and an arid look came
into her face. The glance and its sequel did
not escape Kitty’s notice. She knew well—as
who would not?—what Mona Crozier was hoping
to see, and she was human enough to feel a kind of
satisfaction in the wife’s chagrin and disappointment;
for the unopened letter in the baize-covered desk which
she had read was sufficient warrant for a punishment
and penalty due the little lady, and not the less
because it was so long delayed. Had not Shiel
Crozier had his draught of bitter herbs to drink over
the past five years?
Moreover, Kitty was sure beyond any doubt at all that
Shiel Crozier’s wife, when she wrote the letter,
did not love her husband, or at least did not love
him in the right or true way. She loved him only
so far as her then selfish nature permitted her to
do; only in so far as the pride of money which she
had, and her husband had not, did not prevent; only
in so far as the nature of a tyrant could love—though
the tyranny was pink and white and sweetly perfumed
and had the lure of youth. In her primitive way
Kitty had intuitively apprehended the main truth, and
that was enough to justify her in contributing to
Mona Crozier’s punishment.
