And, somehow, his question seemed a key to this cipher, innocently retained in the unseen brain-cells, stored up without suspicion--almost without curiosity.
For all her recent eloquence upon unhappiness and divorce, it came to her now in some still subtle manner, that she had been speaking concerning things in the world of which she knew nothing.

And one of them, perhaps, was love.
Then every instinct within her revolted, all her innate delicacy, all the fastidious purity recoiled before the menace of his question.

Love! Was it possible?
Was this that she already felt, _love_?
Could such treachery to herself, such treason to training and instinct arise within her and she not know it?
Panic-stricken she raised her head; and at sight of him a blind impulse to finish with him possessed her--to crush out that menace--end it for ever--open his eyes to the inexorable truth.
"Lean nearer," she said quietly.

Every vestige of blood had left her face.
"Listen to me.

Two years ago I was told that I am a common foundling.
Under the shock of that--disclosure--I ruined my life for ever....