s. Branscombe, wearily.

Something in her manner frightens Graham more than all that has gone
before.

"Oh, madam, do not pay any attention to such a wicked tale," she says,
anxiously, "and forgive me for ever having presumed to lend my ears to
it. No one knowing the master could possibly believe in it."

"Of course not." The answer comes with unnatural calmness from between
her white lips. Graham bursts into fresh tears, and flings her apron
over her head.

Mrs. Branscombe, at this, throws up her head hastily, almost
haughtily, and, drawing her hand with a swift movement across her
averted eyes, breathes a deep lingering sigh. Then her whole
expression changes; and, coming quite near to Graham, she lays her
hand lightly on her shoulder, and laughs softly.

Graham can hardly believe her ears: has that rippling, apparently
unaffected laughter come from the woman who a moment since appeared
all gloom and suppressed anger?

"I am not silly enough to fret over a ridiculous story such as you
have told me," says Georgie, lightly. "Just at first it rather
surprised me, I confess, but now--now I can see the absurdity of it.
There; do not cry any more; it is a pity to waste tears that later on
you may long for in vain."

But when she has gained the house, and has gone up to her own room,
and carefully locked her door, her assumed calmness deserts her. She
paces up and down the floor like some chained creature, putting
together bit by bit the story just related to her. Not for a moment
does she doubt its truth: some terrible fear is knocking at her heart,
some dread that is despair and that convinces her of the reality of
Andrews's relation.

Little actions of Dorian's, light words, certain odd remarks, passed
over at the time of utterance as being of no importance, come back to
her now, and assert themselves with overwhelming persistency, until
they declare him guilty beyond all dispute.

When she had gone to the altar and sworn fidelity to him, she had
certainly not been in love with her husband, according to the common
acceptation of that term. But at least she had given him a heart
devoid of all thought for another, and she had fully, utterly,
believed in his affection for her. For the past few months she had
even begun to cherish this belief, to cling to it, and even to feel
within herself some returning tenderness for him.

It is to her now, therefore, as the bitterness of death, this
knowledge that has come t