Devereux was certainly moved. She was almost prepared to admit a
genuinely exceptional case. But she had a question to ask. Did Ingram
intend to marry her--now?
At this Chevenix stepped back, as if to avoid a blow. "Ah!" he said. "Ah!
That's it. Ask me another."
"Do you mean to say of your friend, and mine," she pursued him, "that he
would dare--after all that you tell me--to---"
"No," said Chevenix, in a desperate stew; "no, I don't mean that. I think
he would have her this moment--if he could get her. But--the fact is--
Well, you know--" and he glanced anxiously at the lady, "I've nothing to
go upon, absolutely nothing as yet; but the fact is, I'm not sure whether
she would take him, you know--now."
"Is that possible?" was all the lady could find to say, with a throw-up of
the hands. "Is that possible?"
"Quite--with Sanchia," said Chevenix. "Through with him, you know--got to
the bottom of him--sick of him. I believe he bores her, you know." Mrs.
Devereux looked at him, more in sorrow than in anger, and then walked
slowly away. Most eloquent comment.
VI
Whatever may have been the net result upon Mrs. Devereux's mind of the
explanatory revelations made upon the river bank, two things became clear
as day succeeded day.
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