"I do not believe it," she said firmly, "and you--you must not believe it either, Clara. For wherever you heard it, it is wrong. We should dishonor Philip by such a thought--you are his friend, and I am his wife--we are not the ones to believe anything against him, even if it could be proved--and there are no proofs."
"My dear," responded her ladyship easily. "You can get proofs for yourself if you like. For instance, ask Sir Philip how often he has seen Miss Vere lately,--and hear what he says."
Thelma colored deeply. "I would not question my husband on such a subject," she said proudly.
"Oh well! if you are so fastidious!" And Lady Winsleigh shrugged her shoulders.
"I am not fastidious," returned Thelma, "only I do wish to be worthy of his love,--and I should not be so if I doubted him. No, Clara, I will trust him to the end."
Clara Winsleigh drew nearer to her, and took her hand.
"Even if he were unfaithful to you?" she asked in a low, impressive tone.
"Unfaithful!" Thelma uttered the word with a little cry. "Clara, dear Clara, you must not say such a word! Unfaithful! That means that my husband would love some one more than me!--ah! that is impossible!"
"Suppose it were possible?" persisted Lady Winsleigh, with a cruel light in her dark eyes. "Such things have been!"
Thelma stood motionless, a deeply mournful expression on her fair, pale face. She seemed to think for a moment, then she spoke.
"I would never believe it!" she said solemnly. "Never, unless I heard it from his own lips, or saw it in his own writing, that he was weary of me, and wanted me no more."
"And then?"
"Then"--she drew a quick breath--"I should know what to do. But, Clara, you must understand me well, even if this were so, I should never blame him--no--not once!"
"Not blame him?" cried Lady Winsleigh impatiently. "Not blame him for infidelity?"
A deep blush swept over her face at the hated word "infidelity," but she answered steadily-"No. Because, you see, it would be my fault, not his. When you hold a flower in your hand for a long time, till all its fragrance has gone, and you drop it because it no longer smells sweetly--you are not to blame--it is natural you should wish to have something fresh and fragrant,--it is the flower's fault because it could not keep its scent long enough to please you. Now, if Philip were to love me no longer, I should be like that flower, and how would HE be to blame? He would be good as ever, but I--I should have ceased to seem pleasant to him--that is all!"