There was no mistaking the amazed incredulity on his face.
Billy caught her breath.

The righteous indignation in her eyes fled, and a terrified appeal took its place.
"You don't mean that you _didn't--know ?_" she faltered.
There was a moment's silence.

A power quite outside herself kept Billy's eyes on Arkwright's face, and forced her to watch the change there from unbelief to belief, and from belief to set misery.
"No, I did not know," said the man then, dully, as he turned, rested his arm on the mantel behind him, and half shielded his face with his hand.
Billy sank into a low chair.

Her fingers fluttered nervously to her throat.

Her piteous, beseeching eyes were on the broad back and bent head of the man before her.
"But I--I don't see how you could have helped--knowing," she stammered at last.