When she entered the parlour Paul stept forward to take her in his arms. That was a matter of course. She knew it would be so, and she had prepared herself for it. 'Paul,' she said, 'let me hear about all this--first.' She sat down at some distance from him,--and he found himself compelled to seat himself at some distance from her.
'And so you have heard of Mrs Hurtle,' he said, with a faint attempt at a smile.
'Yes;--Felix told me, and Roger evidently had heard about her.'
'Oh yes; Roger Carbury has heard about her from the beginning;--knows the whole history almost as well as I know it myself. I don't think your brother is as well informed.'
'Perhaps not. But--isn't it a story that--concerns me?'
'Certainly it so far concerns you, Hetta, that you ought to know it. And I trust you will believe that it was my intention to tell it you.'
'I will believe anything that you will tell me.'
'If so, I don't think that you will quarrel with me when you know all. I was engaged to marry Mrs Hurtle.'
'Is she a widow?'--He did not answer this at once. 'I suppose she must be a widow if you were going to marry her.'
'Yes;--she is a widow. She was divorced.'
'Oh, Paul! And she is an American?'
'Yes.'
'And you loved her?'
Montague was desirous of telling his own story, and did not wish to be interrogated. 'If you will allow me I will tell it you all from beginning to end.'
'Oh, certainly. But I suppose you loved her. If you meant to marry her you must have loved her.' There was a frown upon Hetta's brow and a tone of anger in her voice which made Paul uneasy.
'Yes;--I loved her once; but I will tell you all.' Then he did tell his story, with a repetition of which the reader need not be detained. Hetta listened with fair attention,--not interrupting very often, though when she did interrupt, the little words which she spoke were bitter enough. But she heard the story of the long journey across the American continent, of the ocean journey before the end of which Paul had promised to make this woman his wife. 'Had she been divorced then?' asked Hetta,--'because I believe they get themselves divorced just when they like.' Simple as the question was he could not answer it. 'I could only know what she told me,' he said, as he went on with his story. Then Mrs Hurtle had gone on to Paris, and he, as soon as he reached Carbury, had revealed everything to Roger. 'Did you give her up then?' demanded Hetta with stern severity. No;--not then. He had gone back to San Francisco, and,--he had not intended to say that the engagement had been renewed, but he was forced to acknowledge that it had not been broken off. Then he had written to her on his second return to England,--and then she had appeared in London at Mrs Pipkin's lodgings in Islington. 'I can hardly tell you how terrible that was to me,' he said, 'for I had by that time become quite aware that my happiness must depend upon you.' He tried the gentle, soft falsehoods that should have been as sweet as violets. Perhaps they were sweet. It is odd how stern a girl can be, while her heart is almost breaking with love. Hetta was very stern.