"Where did you get that bracelet? I don't remember it."
"This?" She looked at him with astonishment. "It belonged to my
mother. I don't often wear it."
"Ah--I shall suspect everything now," he groaned.
He turned away and flung himself with bowed head in the chair behind
his writing-table. He wanted to collect himself, to question her, to
get to the bottom of the hideous abyss over which his imagination
hung. But what was the use? What did the facts matter? He had only
to put his memories together--they led him straight to the truth.
Every incident of the day seemed to point a leering finger in the
same direction, from Mrs. Nimick's allusion to the imported damask
curtains to Gregg's confident appeal for rehabilitation.
"If you imagine that my wife distributes patronage--" he heard
himself repeating inanely, and the walls seemed to reverberate with
the laughter which his sister and Gregg had suppressed. He heard
Ella rise from the sofa and lifted his head sharply.
"Sit still!" he commanded.
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